


Northern Interlude

by TheStrangeSeaWolf



Series: The Hour Continued [4]
Category: The Hour (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Loss, Children, Dancing, Depression, F/M, Folk Music, Grief/Mourning, Journalism, Love, Memories, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, POV Lix Storm, POV Randall Brown, Poetry, Scottish Character, Scottish Folk Dancing, Sharing a Bed, Singing, Sleep, Watching Someone Sleep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:35:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 26,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27387295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheStrangeSeaWolf/pseuds/TheStrangeSeaWolf
Summary: Having found each other again after the events ofUp NorthLix and Randall spend a few days in Berriedale. A time to enjoy being close to each other, and a time to meet some old friends. But also, a time to realize that there are still things to face and figure out.This is an interlude before Lix and Randall will embark on a journey back to London, which will take me some time to plot and write. So, you have this story in the meantime.
Relationships: Randall Brown/Lix Storm
Series: The Hour Continued [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013298
Comments: 21
Kudos: 60





	1. Friday Morning {Lix}

“I'll take the sofa, you'll take the bed.”

Randall was making sure all the plates and cups from breakfast were stored away correctly one last time.

“Don't be silly, Randall. It is your bed, and your sofa is comfortable enough. I slept well there, yesterday.”

Lix hung the tea towel on its rail above the sink.

“But the bed is even more comfortable.”

Randall made sure the tea towel hung exactly even. Then, he turned around, took her hand and kissed it gently before she could voice her next protest.

“You deserve just the best, Lix. I will never allow you to settle for anything less.”

She had never been able to resist him when he looked at her like a begging puppy. But she felt she neither deserved that he treated her like a queen, nor did she accept that he settled for the lesser option. It was his bed and his cottage, after all. She thought of a third option.

“How about... we both sleep in the bed?”

Randall looked into her eyes, then to his feet, his fingers started drumming nervously on his trouser legs. Then, he looked up, but averted her gaze and instead started speaking to her collar.

“I... I'd love to, Lix, but I...” he started to rub his forehead, “I... I'm just really tired. Last night was not exactly...” he took down his glasses and spoke to them, “relaxing, and I think I... I just need a bit of sleep. I'm not a young man anymore.”

He quickly looked up with an apologetic smile, then looked back down to his glasses.

Lix felt an amusement welling up she hadn't felt in years. He looked like a nervous schoolboy asking his crush out for a first date. Only that he more or less felt nervous about doing the opposite. She giggled, took his glasses from his hands and placed them carefully on the kitchen counter. Then, she wrapped her arms around his middle.

“Randall, look at me.”

He obeyed. He looked nearly as if he felt guilty.

“Randall, in case you haven't realized it, I'm also not exactly a young woman anymore. I also need a bit of sleep. I was just implying that we use the same bed to sleep in. Your bed is just a single bed, but I think it is still spacious enough for both of us.”

“Oh,” Randall sighed relieved and blushed deep red. “Okay”

She pecked a kiss on his nose.

“Sometimes you are really beyond cute, you know that, Randall?”

He blushed even deeper.

“It will still be terribly uncomfortable for you,” he insisted.

“Randall, I slept like a baby on the sofa because I knew you were next to me. I'm sure my sleep will be even better when I have you closer.”

“Okay.”

It was typical for Randall that the thought of it somehow _helping her_ convinced him.

Lix took his hand and guided him to the bedroom.

They both undressed, Lix quickly and pragmatically as usual, Randall slowly and meticulously, making sure his sweater and trouser hung exactly even on the hanger, and his socks and underwear sat accurately on the foot of the bed.

She went to the left side of the bed. Randall didn't move. He stood as if he was paralyzed and stared at the heap of clothes she left at the foot of the bed. She smiled, put her blouse and her skirt on a hanger and placed the rest of her clothes more neatly.

Randall breathed relieved, finally ready to lie down.

Lix made herself comfortable. She realized that Randall had crouched on the edge of the bed, making sure he only took up a minimum of space, not even resting his head on the pillow, using his arm instead. It looked horribly uncomfortable.

She let her hand crawl around his chest.

“Randall, come on, there is enough space for both of us on this pillow. Have you forgotten how close we sometimes had to huddle together back in Spain?”

“I haven't. I will never forget the small cod in that cellar...”

“See. So come on, rest you head on the pillow.”

Randall reluctantly followed her order. Lix pulled a bit to indicate he should rest his body closer to hers.

“Come on, have you forgotten how to relax in the arms of a woman?”

“Maybe. A bit. Not used to... like this.”

Randall sounded hesitant. Of course, usually, on the rare occasions he stayed over night at her flat, or vice versa, he would wrap himself around her. The protector. The one who was keeping her safe from a big bad world outside. The one who ensured that she could sleep peacefully in his arms. He was not used to their roles being reversed.

“Do you want me to turn around? Reverse our positions?”

There was a long moment of silence. She was sure that there was a battle raging inside, behind those shoulders she felt tense against her chest. His pride battling against the wish to receive comfort and protection instead of providing it. She felt his hand slowly reaching for hers, grabbing it, gently caressing it.

“No.”

He finally murmured.

“Then relax, Randall. We have nothing to fear, nothing to run from. Just relax.”

“Sometimes... sometimes those are the moments when it is hardest to relax. When you are not running away anymore. When you realize you could actually relax... but you are not used to it anymore.”

Oh, she knew. She knew all too well. And she knew the dark thoughts that had the tendency to creep into the mind in those moments, barring the body and soul from relaxing. She had to distract him so he finally could relax and fall asleep.

“Hey, remember that one time when they accidentally booked us the presidential suite in that hotel in Madrid? And didn't notice until we had spent three nights in it, luxury room service and everything?”

“Oh, yes, I do, I do.”

Randall chuckled and she felt his shoulders relaxing a bit.

“Not our fault, though.”

“Absolutely not. They should have noticed.”

“And we took full advantage of it.”

She softly kissed his head. He let out a deep sigh and a content hum.

“We did. And do you remember how we were stuck for days in that little village by the sea because the roads were blocked?”

“Oh yes, yes, I do. What a beautiful beach. It was easy to forget it was war time.”

Randall let his fingers crawl between her fingers.

“I just wish we hadn't lost so much time together. I wish I would have asked you to marry me back then, and ran away together with you.”

“Oh, Randall.”

She shifted her position in a way her other hand was able to gently stroke his hair. It might have turned grey, but it was still as soft as it had been when he was a much younger man.

“You forget that we were young. We were two young bloodhounds, hungry for adventure and the next story. We were pretty bored and angry that we couldn't get out of that place and back to the frontlines. We enjoyed being together, but we were burning to get back into danger.”

“We were fools.”

“We were young and foolish, yes. But do you think we could cherish what we have now the way we do if we weren't foolish when we were younger?”

He raised their hands a bit and placed a tender kiss on her fingers.

“That's a beautiful thought, honestly.”

She felt the last tension escaping his shoulders.

“You are a very wise woman.”

He relaxed even more.

“Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix. You know I loved you back then?”

She nodded.

“I know, Randall. I didn't want to realize it then, but deep inside, I always knew.”

“Good. But I think I didn't love you half as much then as I love you now.”

She felt tears welling up, fought them back and placed a gentle kiss on his head.

“I love you, too, Randall... Now try to sleep a bit.”

He nodded and snuggled a bit closer to her.

“Sleep well, my love.”

He let his body nearly melt into her body.

“Sweet dreams, dear.”

She hoped he would find some peaceful sleep in her arms.

He really deserved it.

She felt the exhaustion of those past few days creeping into her arms and legs.

Warm and heavy.

She tried to fight this feeling so she could watch over Randall.

He had already drifted off to sleep.

She listened to his even breathing.

After a short while, sleep was claiming her, too.


	2. Paddy {Randall}

They explored the surroundings of the cottage. Or, better, Lix explored the surroundings while Randall watched her admiring all the small details that he loved or never really recognized before he had someone who would point them out.

He finally had someone to share his love for this place. And it seemed she loved it just as much as he did.

“Mr. Brown, Mr. Brown!”

He looked around and saw Paddy running up the dirt track. About ten years of age, red-haired, thin as a rail, a flat cap that was way too large, and, as always, covered in dirt. Randall grinned all over his face.

“Paddy Gunn, you little rascal, I haven't seen you so far. Where have you been hiding?”

He crouched down and opened his arms. Paddy ran into them, and immediately hugged his neck. Randall rubbed the small, skinny back and enjoyed the giggle that emerged from the small bundle.

“Don't you want to introduce me to this young man, Randall?”

Lix asked, amused. Paddy let go of Randall's neck, straightened the back, and looked up at Lix.

“I'm not a young man, Miss. I'm a young woman!”

She let her braces flick.

Randall stood up and laid his hand on Paddy's shoulder.

“Paddy Gunn, meet Lix Storm, my fiancée and Head of Foreign Desk at _The Hour_.”

Now Paddy opened her mouth in amazement.

“Wow! Is Head of Foreign Desk more or less than you, Mr. Brown?”

Randall chuckled. Paddy loved comparing things.

“Well, when it comes to all of the things that go on in the whole wide world outside of the United Kingdom, she's more than me, Paddy.”

He said and winked at Lix who smiled tenderly at the scene before her eyes.

Paddy stepped forward and stretched out her dirty little hand.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Storm. When I grow up, I want to be a journalist, too! Like Mr. Brown. And like you!”

Lix shook Paddy's hand.

“That's great. So, you are a future colleague! Delighted to meet you. Randall, don't you want to introduce this young lady to me, too?”

“Of course, sorry, where are my manners. Meet Paddy Gunn, daughter of Ian Gunn, Innkeeper, Shop Owner, and Head of News of Berriedale.”

He knew that Paddy loved it when he addressed her dad that way. She had been delighted to learn that in Randall's view, her dad was making sure the whole county was informed what was going on, and so, was just as much a Head of News as Randall.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Gunn!”

Lix smiled.

“Paddy is fine, Miss. Just don't call me Patricia. I _hate_ that name!”

“Alright. Paddy, then! So, you want to be a journalist? What kind of a journalist?”

“Oh, I want to be a reporter. I want to travel the world and see places and tell people about them! Here, Mr. Brown already told me how to do it. I _always_ carry my pocketbook with me and take notes of everything that happens.”

Paddy rummaged in her pocket, pulled out a little notebook, and handed it to Lix.

“See?”

Lix flipped through the dirty and crumpled pages that listed meticulously dates, names and things that happened around Berriedale, including pub fights, funerals, and the birth of calves, including parents, gender, size, weight and possible future use.

“You are already a good observer, Paddy,” Randall mused, looking over Lix's shoulder. “But it seems your pocketbook is already rather full, not much space left for future observations.”

Paddy nodded seriously and rubbed her nose. Lix gave her the notebook back and she shoved it back into her pocket.

“Well, shall we look if I can do something about that?” Randall asked, stretched out his hand and Paddy took it. He offered his other arm to Lix who took it, too.

Together they went back to the cottage. Randall disappeared inside and came back with a notebook that was similar in size to Paddy's and one that was a bit larger.

“Here you go. I can't let your journalistic ambitions being hampered by a pocketbook that is full, can I? And the larger one can come in handy in case you resume drawing.”

Paddy's eyes grew large.

“Oooooh, thank you, Mr. Brown. I _do_ still draw, you know? But I don't want my drawing things to become dirty and so I never carry them around when I don't draw.”

“You are a very smart girl, Paddy!”

Randall complimented her. Paddy beamed. Then she turned serious again.

“Oh, but I was not coming up here for that. My dad asks if you and your lady want to come down to the pub Saturday evening. There is a band from Wick, friends of my dad who are stopping by on their trip down to Inverness. He thought maybe you want to come and listen, too!”

Randall looked at Lix. He couldn't quite place her look. It seemed melancholic... reluctant... He turned back to Paddy.

“Thank you for the information, Paddy.”

“Sooo... you will come?”

“Very good, never let anyone slip, like every good reporter, Paddy! But I first have to consult the news room to see if we will be available.”

He winked. Paddy winked back.

“Ay. I tell him. I hope I will see you there, Miss Storm?”

Paddy tipped her finger to her flat cap. Lix nodded.

“Mr. Brown?”

Paddy first tipped to her flat cap again, before she decided otherwise and wrapped her small arms around Randall. She only came up to his waistband.

“Thank you so much for the books! I promise I will try to keep them tidy.”

“You are welcome, Paddy. Just promise you will be a good journalist, always keeping your eyes open and always telling the truth.”

Paddy beamed up at him and Randall smiled down, softly rubbing the small shoulders, then rectifying her flat cap.

“I promise, Mr. Brown!”

Paddy said gravely, raising her left hand with two fingers stretched out, while clutching the two books tightly to her chest like a treasure with her right arm.

“Alright, then. Greetings to your dad and Lissy.”

Paddy nodded, pulled her flat cap into her face, waved, turned around and ran downhill, into the direction of Berriedale.


	3. Treasure {Randall}

“Nice kid.” Lix said, wrapping her arm around Randall's waist, watching Paddy disappear in the distance. “Do you always bring her notebooks?”

Randall placed his hand on Lix's shoulder.

“I always have a stash of blank notebooks with me. When I was a kid I always missed having a real pocketbook. I made do with blank pages and envelopes I found in the trash, cutting them to the same size and gluing them together on one side. One day I got a gift from a distant relative. A real pocketbook, hardback, complete with a bookmark and a pocket for the pen. I kept it like a treasure and nearly didn't dare to write anything in it so it would last longer.”

He stroked Lix's shoulder with his thumb.

“So, now, as an adult, I always carry some blank notebooks with me in case I see a kid who is in need of one. Because I know it can mean the world to someone.”

“That's so beautiful, Randall,” Lix whispered, leaning her head towards his shoulder.

“The large one, I brought especially for Paddy. Because last time she wasn't decided if she wanted to become a journalist or an artist or a vet or a farmer. And I think... well, drawing is wonderful, no matter if she wants to keep it up or not. She should at least have a good sketchbook at hand, don't you think?”

Lix turned around to look into his eyes.

“You are such a wonderful, considerate man, Randall, you would have made such a wonderful...”

She didn't finish the sentence, tears suddenly filling her eyes. The pain. The unspeakable pain he felt in his own heart, mirrored in her eyes. A pain that threatened to overwhelm them both.

“Shhhhh, Lix...” he gently caressed her cheek. “It has nothing to do with that. I just know how it is not to have the tools to do what you love doing.”

“Do you draw, Randall?”

Lix had successfully fought back the tears.

“Oh, well... when I was a kid, I made some attempts. But my dad said it was nothing of value, it wouldn't earn me money, and so... I never really kept at it. I consider maybe picking it up again, you know? Sometimes I think I would love to capture some moments. Some impressions. The landscape. The people. There is so much beauty around me...”

He trailed off, letting his thumb run over her forehead, along her eyebrows.

“Sometimes I would love to draw you. You have such a beautiful face. Such wonderful features...” he let his fingertips hover over her cheekbone, “all those lines, the curved ones, the straight ones....” he let his fingers run along her jawline and down to her chin, where he rested his index finger on the small dimple, “You are a work of art, Lix Storm.”

She blushed which made her even more beautiful. He smiled tenderly at her.

“What about you, Lix? Do you draw?”

She folded her arms and looked to her toes, shaking her head.

“No,” she said, quietly. “When I was about Paddy's age, I did, but then... ah, well... life happens, I guess...”

She sighed.

“What about Saturday, Randall, do you want to go?”

He was surprised that she came back to this topic. She hadn't seemed too fond of the idea before.

“Oh, well... I don't think it is a matter what _I_ want, it is more a matter of what _you_ want, Lix.”

“Why? Isn't it a matter of what we both want?” Lix smirked.

“True. Well... I'm selfish, you know? I mean, it is Saturday and a band is playing. So, everybody who can still walk will be at the Gunn Arms. And if I go there with you, they will all envy me because I am with the most beautiful lass in the whole county. And I can show you around and tell everybody that you are _my_ Lix and that I will fight everybody who will look at you the wrong way.”

Lix giggled.

“Oh, Randall, I'm sure everybody knows that you couldn't hurt a fly.”

“I wouldn't place a bet on that if someone tries to hurt you, Lix.”

He carefully pulled her closer.

“Ah, well... Lissy mentioned that you sang and danced last time you were at the Gunn Arms. I would risk anything just to see _that_ , because it is still hard to believe.”

“I'm fairly sure that this won't happen, because I know that this time Lissy _and_ you will watch Ian closely so he can't slip me a drink. And I won't do that when I'm sober.”

“Mind if I say 'wait and see'?”

Lix closed the hug and kissed him. He answered the kiss, wrapped his arms closer around her and thought that there was only one power in this world that could make him sing and dance when he was sober. The woman he held safely in his arms just needed to ask and he would do anything.

But she didn't need to know that.


	4. Saturday afternoon {Randall]}

“I was secretly hoping for a kilt, Randall.”

Lix smirked as Randall shrugged into his tweed jacket.

“Don't be silly, Lix. A worker's son from Glasgow shouldn't pass himself as Highlander. Besides, I would look ridiculous, and it would distract the guests from your beauty.”

They had decided to spend the last night at the Gunn Arms. Lix still had her belongings there and that way they wouldn't have to drive up to Randall's cottage after an evening at the pub. Lix had promised not to drink anything, but the prospect of spending the night in a spacious double bed was nice, either way. Especially with a big road trip lying ahead, back to London.

“You look absolutely stunning in this,” Randall rectified the lapels of Lix's trouser suit. It was also tweed, a different pattern, but to his astonishment it complimented his own perfectly. “I never saw you wearing it.”

“You know how it is... too casual for work, not exactly fitting for an evening in London... you buy it because it appeals to you, but end up never wearing it at all. But I thought it would be perfect for an evening in a pub in Caithness, so I packed it.”

“As if you wouldn't be the eye-catcher tonight, anyway,” Randall reached around her waist and placed a kiss on her neck. “I guess I will spend the evening fending off the unmarried country lads.”

“Flatterer! I'm still past the shelf life, no matter the wrapping.”

“I object. You are like a good whisky, seasoned to perfection in the finest cask. The only whisky I want to get drunk from ever again,” he mumbled against her neck. He felt her shiver, unclear if it was from his breath on her neck or his words.

“You definitely missed your calling, Randall, you would have made an outstanding poet...”

“Well, if I wouldn't have become a journalist I never would have met you,” he answered, took her face in his hands and kissed her.

It was a long, longing kiss. It made him definitely happy they had chosen to have a room at the Gunn Arms tonight.

“How about some tea or something downstairs before we have to get through the whole undressing and dressing process again, Randall?”

Lix finally said when they parted lips.

“Sometimes I wish you were less reasonable, Lix,” he sighed, kissing her again, enjoying another long kiss, before completing his thought, “but you are probably right. The evening is still young, after all. I guess nobody is there, except Ian.”

“Always nice to have a bit of conversation before it gets too crowded and loud for it. I still have an axe to grind with Ian for slipping you those drinks.”

“I already pity Ian.”

Randall grinned. He would never want to come on Lix's bad side. But he had to admit that Ian deserved a bit of a brush down.

He offered her his arm, she took it, and together, they walked downstairs.

He thought it was a shame there were no guests in the pub. He would have loved to see the heads turning, the raised eyebrows and hushed gasps, when this weird stranger from the South, this man who failed so often in his life, this absolute mess of a human being, walked into the place with the prettiest woman Berriedale had ever seen by his side.


	5. Paddy's Idea {Lix}

As Randall had predicted the pub was still empty. Ian was setting up all sorts of things for the evening. They sat at the bar, Randall had an Irn-Bru, Lix had a tea. She had objected Ian's attempts to “spice it up” with whisky, which had earned her a confused look by the innkeeper. She had spared him, however, the promised grinding of the axe, because Paddy helped her father getting the pub ready and Lix didn't want to touch the topic in front of the child.

Now Paddy had finished placing the decoration and came over to the bar.

“Mr. Brown?”

“Yes, Paddy?”

Randall smiled down to Ian's little daughter.

“I need to talk to you.”

Paddy tried to crawl on the bar stool next to Randall, but she was a bit too small and slipped. Randall grabbed her collar before she could fall, pulled her up and made sure she sat safely on the seat before he let go.

Lix thought that she still couldn't believe how Randall, _her_ Randall, interacted with this child. This man, the one who acted rather stiff and formal around people, always restrained, always held back... he acted so... _natural_... Not a moment of hesitation now, as he caught her. Not a moment of hesitation on the hill, where he had crouched down and opened his arms, not a bit afraid of his clothes being stained by a child covered in dirt. 

And Paddy... of course, Paddy got something out of it, but... she hadn't acted like a child being nice to a rich uncle to get a tenner. Paddy had thrown herself around Randall's neck because she had been genuinely happy he was there. She was glad to see him and felt safe with him.

It occurred to her that, until yesterday, she had never seen Randall interacting with children. But then again, she avoided being around when there was a risk seeing it. The one time they had been invited to the baptism of a newly born, she had excused herself and Randall had gone there without her.

Now, she watched Randall and Paddy, having a serious conversation.

“Now, what is it, Paddy?”

“Mr. Brown, you know I want to be a journalist.”

Randall nodded. Paddy nodded, too, and rubbed her nose.

“Now... I had an idea.”

“Let me hear it! Oh, by the way, also an Irn-Bru?”

Paddy beamed and nodded, Randall winked at Ian who sighed, opened a bottle, and handed it to his daughter. They clicked their bottles and Paddy took a long sip.

“Now, what is your idea, Paddy?”

“Okay, so... I'm always reading the John o' Groat Journal, you know? Every day after school.“

“That's good! A journalist always needs to stay informed!”

“Yes. That's what I'm thinking, too! And I was thinking... you know, they don't cover particularly much of this area... and I was thinking... if I write them something about what is happening here... maybe they could print it...”

“You mean, like a junior reporter for Berriedale?”

Paddy nodded excited.

“Yes, yes, something like that! Of course...” Paddy looked doubtfully to her drink, “of course, I have not much experience... and I'm just a child, so, I don't know...”

“Well, Paddy. Would you have something to write about? A story worth telling?”

“Hundreds!” Paddy beamed at Randall, before turning more thoughtful. “Well, not hundreds. But some. I always write them down, but... I don't know...”

“What?”

“Well... my teacher says, I have to wait.”

“Why?”

“Well, I'm just ten. And I still have much to learn. And I always do writing mistakes.”

“Hmmm... are your stories true?”

“Oh, yes, they are!”

“Are they important?”

“To me, they are! Well, I don't know...”

“Hmmm... let me ask differently... do you think people would like to read them? Would they enjoy them and find them interesting?”

“Oh yes, yes, I think they would!”

“Well, then, forget what the teacher says and go for it. I know many exceptionally good journalists who have the odd typo every now and then. And you would be surprised how many can't get the grammar right.”

“Really?”

Paddy looked up to Randall with wide eyes.

“Really!”

Randall confirmed with a smile, winking at Lix. She knew how he loved pointing out her writing errors, especially grammar and messed up punctuation that could have a double meaning if you read it right. It was something that annoyed her a great deal. But she had to admit that it was also hilarious, sometimes.

She placed her chin on Randall's shoulder and made eye contact with Paddy.

“Really! I'm one of them. Randall corrects me _every_ time!”

“Really?”

Paddy's eyes became even wider and Lix nodded her confirmation. Randall let his head sink towards Lix's head.

“But that doesn't mean that Lix is a bad journalist. She's a brilliant journalist, and a much better writer than me. How good your grammar is doesn't define how good you are as a journalist. Although, of course, that doesn't mean you should not pay attention to your teacher and try to write correctly, mind me.”

Randall bumped Paddy's nose with his finger. Paddy giggled. Then she turned serious again and pulled a stash of papers from her pocket.

“I have written something... a story... and I thought that maybe... Mr. Brown... would you... maybe read it and tell me what you think? If it is good enough... for a newspaper?”

Randall took the manuscript and flicked through the five dirty, crumpled pages.

“It would be my pleasure, Paddy. But not this evening, it has been a long day. Is it okay if I take it with me and tell you tomorrow?”

Paddy looked down, suddenly hesitant.

“Hmmm, it is an important piece of paper, right?”

Randall said, thoughtfully.

“It is. I invested much time writing it!”

“Yes... I get that. I tell you what. We stay over night. You give it to me tomorrow morning and then we will take a look at it, okay?”

Paddy looked from Randall to her manuscript and back again.

“No. It is okay. You can have it, Mr. Brown.”

“Really?”

“Really. I want to be a journalist. I have to submit my story to the editor at some point, right?”

“Right you are, Paddy Gunn! So, you think it is ready for the editor? I can have it?”

“You can,” Paddy said with gravely earnest.

“I wish your adult colleagues would always act as professional as you do, Miss Gunn!”

Randall nodded, flattened the papers before he folded them meticulously, and placed them inside his coat pocket.

“I will let you have your edits tomorrow at...” Randall flashed Lix a quick glance, “let's say, 10 o'clock? News room here, at the pub?”

“I will be there, Mr. Brown,” Paddy nodded her agreement.

“I'm looking forward to it,” Randall grinned at his young colleague.

“Which means you have to bugger off to bed, now, young lady!”

Ian chimed in. Paddy pouted.

“Ah, well, I expect all my journalists being right on time and having slept well, so you better do what your dad says. I'm really strict about that, right Lix?”

“Right” Lix agreed. “It's your professional duty to go to bed and have a good night sleep. Mr. Brown also has to tell me that!”

“Really?” Paddy sounded doubtful.

“Really!”

Randall and Lix confirmed in unison.

“Okay, then.” Paddy sighed, sipped the last remains of her Irn-Bru and went off to her room.


	6. Of Lads And Lassies {Lix}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: contains offensive language, swearing, and misogyny. Also, some minor violence.

“You shouldn't encourage her like that, Randall.”

Ian removed the two empty bottles of Irn-Bru, and waved Randall's with a questioning look, to which he received a nod.

“Why not?”

“All this nonsense about becoming a journalist. You just shouldn't encourage her that way, she might actually think this is something she could be, leaving her disappointed.”

Randall frowned and tilted his head. Lix already suspected where Ian was heading with this. She had been down that road often enough. Being told what you can't do when you are born a woman.

“Well, if she likes to become one, she can become one. And even if it is just a phase, and she decides to become a vet somewhere down the line, it will still be a great adventure to try it, right?”

“But she's a lassie! Worse, she's a lassie at the end of the world. She can take over this place when she is older, or she can marry a farmer, but these are pretty much all of her options. Everything else is just a daydream!”

Ian opened a new bottle of Irn-Bru and handed it to Randall.

“Why shouldn't she become a journalist here? Well, maybe not here, but Wick, or Thurso? Or just start her career there and then go to London... or to another country? It's a big world outside of Berriedale, you know, Ian?”

“But she's a lass, Randall! You tend to overlook that fact because she looks like a _lad_ , but she's a _lassie_.”

“Which means?”

Lix admired how Randall could stay calm and act as if he didn't know what Ian tried to imply. She would have lost her patience by now.

“It means what the hell it means! She's a lass! She can't be a journalist! She doesn't stand a chance!”

“Why? Lix here is a journalist, too.” Randall pointed to Lix and shrugged. “And, mind me, one of the absolute aces of her profession.”

Lix felt both embarrassed and flattered hearing him praise her like that.

“That's different!”

Ian uttered. Lix saw a superior grin crawling into the corners of Randall 's mouth. He had cornered in on his prey and the prey – Ian in this case – has brought itself into a situation it couldn't get out. Randall _lived_ for moments like these.

“Really?” He said calmly, taking a sip of Irn-Bru. “How's _that_ different?”

Ian stared at them both, obviously lost for words, now that he had to come up with an explanation for his hypocritical take.

“Well, Lix is Lix,” Ian said, scratching his head.

Randall looked at Lix with an amused smirk, then back at Ian.

“Confirmed.” He arched an eyebrow at Ian. “And Paddy is Paddy. I'm glad we have set the record straight now.”

“Well, well... look at Lix, coming up here, all by herself, looking for you. She acts like a lad, speaks like a lad, drinks like a lad... She's basically a man who looks like a woman. I wouldn't be surprised if she is a man in disguise because you can't achieve what she has achieved if you are a woman! And, honestly, I always assumed you were gay, Randall. Now, after I met Lix, I think it is confirmed.”

Lix had difficulties to contain her anger. She didn't mind so much that Ian accused her of being a man in disguise, but she did mind his misogynist take, and how he talked to Randall. Randall, on the other hand, stayed calm. It was one of his most admirable but also most enervating traits. She tried to recall if she had ever seen him losing his superior, almost arrogant calm when facing an enraging situation. None came to mind.

“Oh, really, what makes you think that I'm gay?” Randall said now, resting his chin in his hand, seemingly not offended in the slightest.

“The whole not drinking stuff. The whole sentimental stuff of not getting over a lass you once laid in the Civil War! That whole sentimental, romantic crap about you. You are basically a whiny woman, Randall, not a real man.”

That was it. She couldn't take it any longer. She could argue against bad takes, but she would not let anyone talk down to Randall that way. She lifted her right hand and let it meet Ian's cheek with all her strength, resulting in a loud, resounding slap and Ian's head being thrown to the side.

“Don't you dare to talk to Randall like that! Don't you dare to talk about women like that. And don't you ever! Ever! Ever! Dare to stand in your daughter's way because she's a woman! She can be whatever bloody thing she wants to be, she can become a journalist, a vet, a pilot, a truck driver, or the leader of the world if she _wants_ to. And the least she deserves is a goddamn dad who gets his goddamn act together and supports her because she is his damn daughter and she's bloody awesome. You are a disgrace to manhood, Ian Gunn, and if you were even half the man that Randall is you would be able to grasp that, own up and apologize to Randall just _now_! But I bet whatever spare-part you got in your head instead of a brain doesn't even grasp what you did wrong!”

Ian stared at Lix in horror, while, after a short moment of shock, Randall chuckled quietly.

“You didn't see _that_ one coming, did you, Ian?”

Ian still needed a moment before he could speak again, rubbing his cheek.

A braying laughter from the door indicated that Lissy had witnessed the scene, too.

“Seems you definitely messed with the wrong lass, this time, Ian. And, honestly, your facial expression is priceless. You better apologize for whatever you said, before Lix decides to treat your other cheek in the same way for good measure and your face looks like a baboon's arse.”

She was wiping tears of laughter from her eyes.

Lix was still angry at Ian, but her immediate rage had gone with the slap and the rant.

“You can consider yourself lucky, Ian. The last time I saw Lix cutting a man your size back to size she broke that lad's nose, so I guess that means she still likes you,” Randall shrugged, amused. “See, I abhor violence in every form, but in this case... well, I'd say you have brought that one upon yourself.”

Lix was secretly relieved that Randall had her back and didn't scold her for acting her aggression out on Ian.

Ian was slowly gaining his composure again.

“I'm sorry if I have offended you somehow, Ma'am.”

“What a rubbish kind of apology is this, Mr. Gunn?”

Lix looked from Ian's face to her left hand and wondered if she could apply the same force with her left as she did with her right. Obviously, Ian got the hint. He leaned his fists on the counter, bowed his head, and cleared his throat.

“I apologize, Ma'am. You are, of course, a woman and Randall is a man.”

Lix rubbed her chin, thoughtfully. Then, with one quick movement, she grabbed Ian's left earlobe, only lightly, but with a clear hint what she could do with it in case she wasn't satisfied with how this apology turned out.

“And?”

“And of course you are right, Ma'am. My daughter can become everything she wants to,” he mumbled.

“I'm not sure we all heard that correctly. I'm pretty sure Lissy over there didn't hear that, Ian. Am I right?”

“Not a word,” Lissy confirmed from the door. Ian tried to throw her an angry look but couldn't manage it without risking getting his earlobe pinched in a way it turned burgundy.

“Paddy can become everything she wants to become. She can become a journalist if she wants to. She can become the commander of a battleship if she wants to! If she only grows up to be half the woman you are, Mrs. Storm, I'm convinced she can become _everything.”_

Lix held the earlobe tight for a moment, considering if she was satisfied with this answer.

“And?”

“And I will support her whatever it is she wants to become.”

Lix looked into Ian's eyes which were pleading for her to let him out of this embarrassing situation before the first guests appeared.

“Have you heard that, Lissy?”

“I have,” Lissy confirmed.

“Do you think we can trust him he means it and doesn't forget about it once I let go?”

“Well...”

Lissy said, rubbing her chin.

Lix tightened her grip.

Ian gave an indistinct grunt.

Randall chuckled.

Lissy sighed.

“I must admit it appeals to me seeing you dragging Ian across his own pub by the earlobe, Lix, but I tend to believe he really means it. He isn't a bad guy, he is just a bit thick and needs a reminder of what is right and wrong every now and then. But I have no doubt he loves Paddy and won't stand in her way. And if he does, I can still call you so you can finish what you have started, right?”

Lix was in no hurry to leave Ian off the hook.

“Randall?”

“I concur. I think Ian has learned his lesson and Lissy is there to supervise him, so I think it is safe to let him go. You can't hold his earlobe the whole evening, anyway. That man got a job to do and you will need to use the toilet sooner or later.”

Randall shrugged, obviously enjoying the situation.

Lix let go of Ian's earlobe. Ian rubbed it and looked at her... fearfully? Respectfully? Maybe both. He brought himself out of her reach.

“Your lass is a goddamn battle tank, Randall.”

He mumbled, and escaped to the kitchen.

“I know, this is why I intend to marry her.”

Randall shouted after him. Then, he took Lix's right hand and placed a tender kiss on her palm which was still burning from the slap.

“I can't think of anything more sexy than being married to a lass who is able to frighten the crap out of a six-feet-four lad from Caithness in his own pub.”


	7. Mairie & Sheila {Randall}

“Randall, hey!”

Randall turned around and saw Mairie coming towards him, a small bundle in her arms. Mairie was one of the farmers around town. He hadn't seen her last time he had been here, so he was happy to see her alive and well. He hadn't even known she had been pregnant. But, of course, he often didn't pay much attention to the gossip Ian told him so he probably missed that bit.

He stood up to greet her.

“Hello Mairie, long time, no see. Who do we have here?”

He looked down to the baby, into two clear blue eyes investigating their surroundings curiously, and to a small hand that was undecided if it wanted to grab something or go into the mouth.

“Oh, you haven't met Sheila, yet! Sheila, say hello to uncle Randall.”

“Hi there, Sheila, you little beauty!”

Randall used his quietest voice, smiled tenderly, and let his right index finger run over the smooth, full cheek. The two blue eyes tried to look at the finger and the small hand came from the mouth to reach for it. Randall brought his finger nearer to the small hand, four tiny fingers closed in, accompanied by an even tinier thumb, grabbed it and pulled it towards the tiny mouth.

“Uh, we better keep that dirty thing out of your mouth,” he gently pulled his finger away from Sheila's mouth, while Sheila tried to pull it back to her mouth. “You are already a strong little highland lass!”

Her mother laughed.

“Oh, yes, she definitely is! If she keeps growing like that and her strength increases like that I'm sure she will frighten away all the lads!”

“Well, her mother is a strong highland lassie, too, and it sure hasn't frightened away Neil!”

Randall saw a darkness clouding Mairies eyes, and she looked away, quickly.

“Oh, no, don't tell me...”

Mairie nodded. Randall dreaded situations like these. He never knew what to say. All words seemed shallow and meaningless when it came to the fact that someone important was missing in someone's life.

He remembered Neil, not particularly large, but strong like a bear, quick-witted and friendly. Drank a bit much, but they all did, more or less, up here. He had seemed like a quite ordinary, healthy young man. He wondered what had happened.

“I'm so sorry to hear that, Mairie...”

Mairie gulped and nodded.

“It's okay. We manage. Duncan helps with the cattle. Neighbors are there to help, too. Tonight, Bessie takes Sheila, so I can enjoy an evening for myself. The first in... gosh, I have forgotten how long it is since I had a proper evening out. By the way, she wanted to be here right now, but seems she's running late. Would you take Sheila for a moment, I have to pay last month's bill and want to do it before it gets too crowded around here.”

Before he could voice a word of protest, Mairie handed Sheila to Randall. He automatically wrapped her securely in his arms. He had nearly forgotten how good it felt to have a baby in his arms. A tiny, breathing miracle who, with a bit of luck and support, would become a beautiful adult human being, someday. He smiled down to the two curious eyes who seemed undecided whether they liked the new situation.

“Hey there, baby Sheila. It's not too bad in uncle Randall's arms, hmm.”

He murmured in a gentle, slightly melodic voice. The baby gave s short, inarticulate sound that seemed quite content.

Mairie placed a kiss on Sheila's forehead and went to the kitchen to search for Ian.

With her mother suddenly out of sight, Sheila started to get anxious. The eyes, the whole head searched for her mom, and she tried to move her little body in Randall's arms.

“There, there, mommy will be here again, in a instant,” Randall hushed her.

Sheila looked at him, and suddenly she grimaced and started to cry.

“Well, well, come on, let's not cry, let's go look for her.”

Randall placed Sheila more upright so she could look over his shoulder and started pacing through the pub, gently bouncing her, and rubbing her back. It calmed her a bit, but she didn't stop crying. Before he knew what he was doing or considered who was listening, he started to sing.

“ _I left my baby lying here,  
Lying here, lying here,  
I left my baby lying here,  
To go and gather blaeberries.“_

Apparently, there was something about his voice that calmed the little girl. Maybe the sound, maybe just the vibration of his chest against the tiny body. She stopped crying and seemed a bit less tense.

“ _Hovan, Hovan Gorry og O,  
Gorry og, O, Gorry og O  
Hovan, Hovan Gorry og O  
I've lost my darling baby, O!“_

Although the words of the old lullaby echoed his own search for his daughter, singing it was soothing. It brought calmness to the small girl in his arms and it also brought something to his heart. The joy to take care of a small human being. In a way, he held all the hope for a better future in his arms. And this was something wonderful.

“ _I found the wee brown otter's track  
Otter's track, otter's track  
I found the wee brown otter's track  
But ne'er a trace o' my baby, O!“_

He sang, earning him an indistinct sound from Sheila which might have developed into a giggle if she had been a bit older, and a tender smile from Mairie, who had emerged from the kitchen when she heard her daughter cry.

But it didn't matter to Randall. His eyes were glued to Lix who still sat at the bar. She sat stone-faced and pale as a ghost, her eyes burning with a pain that was so immeasurable deep, so devastating, and so inconsolable, that it felt as if an ice-cold hand was reaching for his heart to instantly rip it from his chest.

For a long moment, they stared at each other.

Then, Mairie broke the spell because she came over, and took Sheila from Randall's arms.

Lix slipped from the bar stool and went outside. Randall followed her, but short before the door, Lissy stopped him and laid her hand on his shoulder.

“Stay back, Randall.”

He looked doubtfully at Lissy. He wanted to push her aside and follow Lix because he wanted nothing more than take _his_ Lix in his arms and console her. But something in Lissy's voice held him back.

“But... She is not okay, I need to talk to her.”

“I know, Randall, I know. But not right now. Let me first talk to her. I think it is one of the rare occasions where she might need another woman to talk to, not you.”

He was still not convinced. He didn't want to stay away like a coward if what he had done had hurt her. He wanted to face the pain he had seen in her eyes, now. Lissy's grip on his shoulder tightened.

“Trust me, Randall.”

For a long moment he battled with himself. Do what his heart told him or trust Lissy, who knew him and who knew a lot more about women and the human psyche than he did?

“She will need you, Randall. She will need you tonight. She needs you in her life more than anything else. But for now, trust me, and stay put.”

Finally, he gave in and nodded.

He stared after Lissy and thought that he had possibly never felt as helpless in his life as he felt right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Randall sings the [Highland Fairy Lullaby](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WCf2G-HeVH0) and although you might suspect it, the "wee brown otter's track" really is in there in some versions.


	8. Lissy's Advice {Lix}

Lix let herself sink down on the bench in the backyard of the Gunn Arms. She rubbed her face and rested her head in her hands. She really craved a drink, now.

“Hey, everything okay? You suddenly looked pale?”

Lissy. Had she followed her or had she been outside already?

“Yes, don't worry. A moment of weakness.”

Well, maybe... this was a pub, after all...

“I really could do with a sip of whisky right now.”

Lissy sat beside her on the bench. She took out a pack of cigarettes.

“Not sure if this is what you need right now. Here, take a cigarette, first.”

Better than nothing. Lix took one, Lissy took one herself and lit both. For half a cigarette length they sat side by side in silence.

“Sometimes talking helps, you know. I mean, not to Randall, but to another woman, Miss Storm.”

Perhaps she had a point. Lissy knew Randall, and they seemed to be good friends.

“You can call me Lix, Lissy... It is just... I always knew that Randall wanted to have a family, but I never realized how much he... he really is good with kids, you know. Seeing him, how he talks to Paddy. How tender he is. How he carried the baby, sang to it...”

Suddenly she felt tears welling up. Usually, she was quite good in holding them back, but right now... She rubbed her eyes.

“I know what you mean... Randall would make a great dad,” Lissy mused.

“Exactly,” Lix exhaled, accompanied by a silent sob.

Lissy wrapped her arm around Lix's shoulder.

“It is always hard to lose a child. I think there is no grief deeper because so many possibilities are suddenly lost. A life not lived to its fullest. A life cut short. Your own life devastated. I think it is time you accept that it is okay you grief for that loss.”

“How... how do you know?”

“Oh, Randall told me that you have a daughter together and that he is out searching for her some time ago. When he came back this time, he hasn't mentioned that quest. But there is a grief in his eyes. And there is grief in your eyes. And I know that grief. I know it first hand, believe me. I have no idea what happened to your daughter, but I know how it hurts. And I see how much you try to be strong, Lix. And how much it burdens you.”

She looked at Lissy. Now, as she looked closer, she could see the grief and the burden of the years in her eyes, too. She was much older than she looked at first sight. They were the same age, perhaps Lissy was even a few years older. Somehow, Lix had expected... ah, well, she hadn't been exactly focused on her surroundings last time they met.

Lix flicked the butt to the ground and stepped on it. Lissy handed her another cigarette, which she took with a thankful nod.

“It is not fair,” she said after a few drags, “he shouldn't do that. He shouldn't burden himself with me. He should be out there, searching for a younger woman and start a family. He is so good with children and he so obviously misses having his own.”

“What about you?”

That was a crucial question. But one she refused to even think about. She shrugged.

“Too late now, anyway. I'm past the age where it would have been possible.”

“You still could adopt.”

Lix looked at Lissy, surprised. The thought had never occurred to her. And she didn't want to think about it further .

“I mean, Ian never wanted to have kids, but when Paddy lost her parents... he is the most unlikely dad, and he might not always get it right, but he rose to the occasion. He really makes a fine dad, by and large. He adores his daughter and I guess you never, for one single moment, doubted she is his own, right?”

Lix nodded her agreement.

“You never know it, until you try it, Lix.”

Lix stared at the cigarette, not knowing what she should say or think.

“I can't give you an advice, Lix. I can just tell you a few things: one is that Randall loves you. There is no other woman for him. If you don't marry him, he will stay single for the rest of his life. He won't go out and start a family, simply because he can't imagine someone else than you at his side. This is a fact. He would make a great dad, but I think you are his top priority. He might fill the void in his heart with other things if you don't have kids, but he was never able to fill the place you had left in his heart when you parted ways.”

Lix looked into Lissy's eyes. She smiled a sad smile at her.

“I know it is hard to believe, but that's how he is. I think I never have encountered a man who was that way. It is very... beautiful. Sometimes I wish...”

Lissy extinguished her cigarette and stared into the far distance.

“No, I don't think I wish I had ever met a man who saw me that way, really. Because it is very beautiful, but it is also a burden. I just wish... I hope... ah, well...”

Lissy grabbed Lix's hand and gently caressed it.

“I think you will both manage it. You are both strong, in a very different way... But Lix, you have to accept that your daughter is gone and no matter how short you have known her, or known her at all, she was a part of your life. You have carried her in your womb, she was a part of you. And now, she's gone. I had an abortion and a miscarriage, believe me, I know that you might feel it is not right to grief for a child you haven't known. But you have to. She was a part of you, Lix. Accept it. Your daughter _deserves_ that you grief for her. And _you_ need to allow yourself to grief for her, it will break you, otherwise.”

Lissy sighed, let go of Lix's hand, reached again around her shoulders, and pulled her closer.

“These are the facts you have to work with, Lix. Everything else is up to you, and I'm not in a position to give you an advice what you should do. Or what you both should do. I know you can pull through, both of you. I wish you all the best.”

Lissy rubbed her shoulder, placed a small kiss on Lix's head, stood up and went inside to resume her duties.


	9. Time {Randall}

Randall pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. He cursed himself for being an idiot. He was usually much more careful not to touch the subject of children in any way. He chose parks that were less frequented by families and didn’t have a playground to take a walk with Lix. He tried to avoid crossing schools or orphanages. He made sure he didn’t touch the subject of education or children’s welfare when talking to her. In short, he made the greatest effort to avoid that hurtful topic.

He had forgotten about it here because he had felt so at home, so free, so _himself_ , and so happy that Lix was with him. He had not for a moment considered what he did when he sang to Sheila.

And now, he was even banned from speaking to Lix. He leaned to the wall and hoped that Lissy knew what she did. She was out there in the backyard since what seemed like forever.

He extinguished the butt in the exact middle of the ashtray next to him when Lissy came back.

“Okay, _now_ it’s your turn, Randall.”

She gave him a compassionate smile.

“What did you tell her?”

“What she needed to hear because you would never have had the courage to tell her. And if you had, she wouldn’t have listened to you. So, I did. She will still need time… And you will need time, too… grief is never a simple thing, Randall. Especially not when you lost a child. But you have each other and that’s perhaps the most important thing.”

Randall wasn’t sure what Lissy tried to tell him. But he was convinced she was right. He trusted her intuition and her knowledge. So, he just nodded.

“Grieving... it isn't as logical and linear as you want it to be, Randall. That's not how it works. You think it is okay, and suddenly it comes back again, stronger than before. Grieving needs time, a lot of time. There is a time to talk, and there is a time to be silent. There is a time to remember, and there is a time to forget. Go to her, Randall, you will know what time it is when she is in your arms. And don’t forget that sometimes, there is also a time to sing, and laugh, and dance, and that this is just as important as mourning and grieving.”

Lissy pecked a small kiss on his cheek and disappeared towards the pub, where the sound of talking and laughter indicated that it became crowded.

He went outside and saw Lix sitting on a bench, staring in the distance, the remnants of a cigarette in her hands. She suddenly looked so small, so vulnerable, so broken, and terribly sad. He approached her, not sure what he should say. When he stood by her side, she looked up, questioningly.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

He felt so awkward, so uncomfortable, so _wrong_.

“I’m sorry,” he finally managed.

She looked up to him, frowning.

“For what?”

“For everything.”

He let himself sink to the place beside her on the bench.

“For bringing you here, for not warning you that there will be children around, at least at the beginning of the evening, for not choosing at least another lullaby for Sheila…”

“Randall!” Lix’s voice was quiet but firm. “Just shut up, and hold me for a bit.”

He obeyed immediately, placing his arm around her shoulder. She let her head sink to his chest and he just held her tight.

He felt the tension in her shoulders. Obviously not able to relax, not able to break down, not able to let the tears fall that were trapped inside.

He wondered what it would take to relieve the pressure.

He kissed her head.

“It is okay to cry, you know? Something terrible happened and like a nightmare it comes back, again and again. Especially if something reminds you what it was. You are a strong woman, Lix Storm. A very strong woman. And strong people often deny themselves to break down. Because they think it’s a sign of weakness. But that’s not true. It is a sign of strength if you allow yourself to cry. Tears allow the soul to heal.”

He felt her hand clawing into his side, pulling herself closer to his chest.

“Shhhh, Randall. Shut up.”

He obeyed and held her close, refraining to just stroking her shoulder with his thumb.

Obviously, it was the time to be silent.


	10. The Deer in the Headlights {Lix}

“Tears allow the soul to heal.”

She heard Randall say. She clutched onto his side, wanting to bury herself in the comfort he offered. At the same time, his words seemed ridiculous. Strength. He knew nothing about strength. He knew nothing about weakness. And he knew nothing about that terrible hole in her heart, or better, the terrible, cold, black hole where her heart had once been, a long, long time ago.

“Shhh, Randall. Shut up.”

It felt wrong that he consoled her when obviously it was her who had robbed him from something he always wanted. Family. Children.

Was Lissy right? Was she the only one who Randall accepted at his side? What a terrible burden. What a waste of a good father!

Still, it felt so good to be in his arms, to feel him stroking her shoulder, offering so much comfort and love. It was egotistic to accept it. But she wasn’t strong enough to deny it. She leaned into him, hearing his calm, steady heartbeat, smelling his distinct smell, feeling the warmth from his body and the sturdy fabric of his coat against her skin.

Just for a moment.

Just for some minutes.

Not thinking.

Not worrying.

Not accusing herself.

Not loathing herself.

Not hating herself.

Just feeling.

The moment passed. She felt stronger again. She was sure she wouldn’t break down and cry now. She searched with her hand for Randall’s hand and they intertwined their fingers.

“Did you know that Ian isn’t Paddy’s real dad, Randall?”

“Ian is Paddy’s real dad, Lix.”

“No, she’s adopted, Lissy told me.”

“Yes. I know. Her parents died when their farm burnt down. It was critical for some time, but Paddy survived. She was only four when it happened. There were no relatives that could have taken care of her. She would have been sent to an orphanage in Inverness, but Ian decided she should stay with him.”

“So…”

“He gave her a home, he provides her with everything she needs, he worries a great deal about her, in my book, that’s what _real_ dads do, Lix.”

“Ian is a mystery to me. He is such an idiot, yet, he does such… incredibly kind things.”

“Is it so hard to understand, Lix? Ian’s heart is just as big as Ian himself.”

“Yet, he wants to keep Paddy from becoming what she wants to become.”

“No, he wants to keep her from getting hurt. He doesn’t want a random stranger encouraging his daughter to do something that might lead to disappointment and pain. Isn’t that what a father should do? Protecting his child?“

“True. But still...“

“And then, there is something else. Ian, as big a man he is, he is very, very afraid. You and I, Lix, we have grown up in urban areas. Ian, however, has seldom set a foot outside Berriedale and I think probably Inverness is the biggest city he ever saw. What he knows about the big wide world is what the newspapers tell him. And this is that it is a terrible place. That it is especially a terrible and unsafe place if you are a woman. And he knows all the terrible things that can happen to you in Berriedale if you are a woman. But still, Berriedale is his home and it seems a comparably safe space to live. He doesn't want his daughter to go out into this scary, scary world. He worries a great deal about her, and he wants to have her next to him when she has grown up so he can still protect her from bad people.“

“I sure get that, Randall. But that way, he clips her wings. He keeps her from using her full potential. And this isn’t a good thing, Randall. This is a bad thing. A very bad thing. This is not what a good father should do.”

“That’s very true, Lix. Very, very true…”

Randall carefully released his hand from hers and took her chin in his hands.

“Lix… sometimes… sometimes we do things out of fear and love… or avoid to do things... or just avoid conversations out of love… and it leads to bad things. Sometimes it takes courage to _not_ keep the pain away from someone you love… It takes courage, and it takes strength… A courage Ian doesn’t have… A courage my father didn’t have… and, ultimately, a courage I wish I had.”

She looked into his eyes and saw the deep pain. His expression had something pleading… something he hoped she would understand without him needing to find words for it. What was it? What did he mean?

Ian didn’t have the courage to let his daughter try things that could hurt her. Randall’s father didn’t have the courage to do what? To talk to his wife about why she wanted to kill herself? It was up to speculation, but maybe. And Randall? What did _he_ do? What did _he_ miss the courage for? What did _he_ avoid to say out of love?

Oh.

No.

Not that.

Not that topic.

Not now.

Not tonight.

She knew that they would need to talk about it.

But tonight, she felt too fragile.

She was not ready to face it.

She gently cupped his cheek.

“Somewhere… somehow… in a while… we both need to be very strong. And very, very brave. But… not tonight. Maybe just tonight… let us pretend everything is okay. Let us pretend we are just two lovers who enjoy their life. No dark shadows from the past, and no worries about tomorrow. Let’s just enjoy tonight.”

Randall took her hand from his cheek and kissed it gently. He looked at her hand and caressed the index finger with the ring, the ring she had worn around her neck for twenty years.

“Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix... as long as you remember that this… this ring… that it is a promise… a promise I won’t break no matter what… as long as you know that, and remember that… I think there is nothing we can’t face together.”

She looked into his eyes and saw the overwhelming love that was glowing in them. Lissy had been right. Being loved that way, up to the point where it was a complete, unconditional surrender, it was a burden because she would never be worthy of that love. But then again, it was very beautiful, a safety net that would hold her no matter what happened.

She nodded slowly.

„Do you think we can have that tonight, Randall? Being just those two silly, carefree idiots we were in Spain? Two idiots who were laughing in the face of death? Acting as if nothing can harm us because we knew we could be dead the very next minute?“

Randall took her face in both his hands.

„The thing is, Lix, we _can_ be dead the very next minute, always, everywhere. No place in this world is ever safe. We just need to forget this fact, otherwise living would be impossible, living would be... just waiting for death to come, like a deer in the headlights.“

He kissed her.

He kissed her, and in this kiss was all of his desperation and all of his hope. Desperation and hope united, tied together, and wrapped into something else, something that was even bigger than desperation and hope.

_Love._

This man, _her_ man, was able to convey a whole love confession in a kiss.

And he did.

And she leaned into it, and let him tell her how much he loved her.

It let her feel something.

Maybe deep down... deep down in that dark, black, cold hole in her chest was still something.

Something that was not completely dead.

Maybe she had been wrong.

Maybe there was still a small, shattered piece of her heart.


	11. The Rabbit And The Stout {Lix}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: might contain inappropriate language and threats of violence

Lix looked in the mirror of their room at the Gunn Arms. She refreshed her make-up. She hadn't been able to contain her tears completely when she had spoken to Lissy, and she was sure she left some make-up stains on Randall's clothes when he held her.

She wanted to forget all about it, all about the painful memories, all the self-doubts, all those _thoughts_.

A drink would help, but she had promised Randall something. She just hoped she could keep her promise. It had been hard enough already.

She took one final look at herself. Not bad. She was looking _okay_. She could pretend everything was okay for the evening. Maybe even for a while longer.

Looking in the mirror, she saw Randall eyeing her. She had expected him to occupy himself with something, brushing invisible lints from his clothes, correcting the curtains, reading something, but he just stood there and watched her. Suddenly, she felt self-conscious again.

“What is it? Did I miss a spot? Is something else wrong?”

“No.”

“So, why are you staring at me, Randall?”

He moved closer and rested his hands on her shoulders.

“I'm not _staring_ Lix, I'm beholding.”

“Beholding?”

“Mhm. And marveling. And wondering.”

Randall murmured, gently massaging her shoulders, relieving some of the tension that was sitting there. Their eyes met in the mirror.

“What?”

“Beholding beauty. And marveling how one single human being can be equally beautiful, intelligent, and kind. And wondering how it is possible that this awesome being agreed to put up with me.”

“Flatterer. You shouldn't lie to me like that.”

She reached for his hands on her shoulders and enjoyed the warmth he radiated. She saw a dismayed streak crossing his face.

“I would never lie to you, Lix! I respect you far too much for it. You should know this by now.”

She felt tears filling her eyes once more. She quickly closed them so the tears would not ruin her make-up again. It was unbelievable how he overlooked the lines on her face that so undeniably showed that she was well past the days of flawless beauty, that she had lived a decent amount of years and grew tired over the decades. And how he ignored the ugliness of her soul. But then again, she hadn't shown him  _just how_ cold and dark it was inside. 

She leaned into him, and he bowed down to place a kiss on her head, resting his nose in her hair.

“You are so much more than you allow yourself to see, Lix Storm.”

She allowed herself to enjoy for a moment the comfort he offered. Only tonight. Only tonight, she would allow herself to be happy. To be carefree and enjoy this evening.

She stood up and wrapped her arms around Randall's middle.

“You really do have a way to talk a woman out of her troubles.”

“I only tell you how it is, Lix. I can't wait to show everybody the beautiful woman who is stupid enough to come and find me at the end of the world.”

He smiled and kissed her carefully, making sure he didn't ruin her make-up again. It was the tenderness of this gesture which finally drove the sad thoughts to the farthest corner of her mind.

When they entered the pub arm in arm, it was rather crowded already. There was chatter and laughter, but it didn't escape Lix that they turned quite a few heads. Randall walked even more upright that usual, nodded to some, waved to others, and there was an expression in the corner of his mouth she had never seen on him. It took her a while until she recognized it as... _pride_.

“Randall! I reserved your favorite seat,” Ian yelled from the bar. “What will it be?”

“Give me a tea, Ian.”

Ian frowned and sighed. Then he waved a bottle of whisky at Lix with a questioning look.

She pulled herself together and shook her head.

“Tea, Ian.”

“As you wish. Sit down, I bring it to your table.”

Ian shrugged.

They went to a comfortable bench with a table next to the bar which allowed them to sit really close together. It was an excellent, safe corner from which they could observe what was happening in the pub without being too exposed.

Ian came, a tray with two steaming mugs in his hands. As he set the first mug in front of Lix, she noticed a familiar whiff. She immediately realized what it was.

_Whisky._

Ian had put some whisky in her tea.

She side-eyed Randall who was occupied with greeting some acquaintances. He wouldn't notice anything.

But if Ian spiced Randall's drink, too...

She couldn't risk that.

Before Ian could react, Lix jumped up, grabbed Ian's ear and pulled him close, so her nose was only a few inches away from Ian's, sinking her eyes into his. She let her voice drop to a deep, menacing holler that was quiet enough no innocent bystander could hear anything but loud enough for Ian and Randall to understand what she was telling him.

“Listen, Ian Gunn, and listen closely. What I tell you now, I will tell you only once. You now take both of those mugs and bring them back. Then you get us two fresh mugs of tea without any alcohol in it. And I tell you another thing, Ian... If I catch you spicing up a drink with alcohol ever again... and it doesn't matter if it is Randall's drink, my drink, or any other drink that was specifically ordered _non-alcoholic_... Ian... I made my way despite of men, men like you... I was in war-zones... I was in the trenches... I swear by everything that is sacred to me... I will drag you out of your own pub, in front off all your guests, by your _bollocks_ , and outside, I will do really, really unpleasant things that will make you remember me every day of your life, and not in a good way... And Randall here is my witness that this is not an empty threat!”

Ian stared at her, paralyzed, like a rabbit staring at a stoat.

“I can assure you Lix is always true to her word, so I guess if you place any value on your reproductive organs and your dignity, you should do exactly what Lix told you, and you probably should never slip anyone drinks again. I have forgiven you, Ian, but it seems that my future wife has very strict opinions on that matter.”

Randall had spoken calmly and without any sign of emotion, his arms firmly crossed in front of his chest.

“I'm sorry, Ma'am. I promise I will never do it again. Please, let me go.”

“I'm not sure if I shouldn't drag you to the stage and let you do this pledge in front of everybody, so I have enough people who will call me if you ever break your promise.”

Ian's eyes grew even wider with horror, and his voice rose to a high-pitched whisper.

“Please!” He begged. “Please, Ma'am, Mrs. Storm, I promise I won't do it again. Never, ever!”

“Only one drop and I make good on my promise, even if I have to drive up from London non-stop in the middle of the night, you got that, Ian?”

Ian tried to nod which was impossible because she held his earlobe.

“Yes, Ma'am.”

Ian grunted, Lix finally let go off the earlobe, and released him out of the embarrassing situation.

“For what it's worth, I just added whiskey to _your_ tea, not Randall's. Lissy will roast me alive if I ever do that again. But I swear I saw you wink when you ordered the tea. I might have misinterpreted that, though,” he mumbled, quickly grabbed Lix's mug and disappeared behind the bar.

Lix followed him with her eyes, then she looked to Randall who still sat there, his face not giving any emotion away.

“Okay, come on, Randall. Spit it out,” she sighed as she sat down again, “tell me that _this_ was not ladylike. Say I was wrong to threaten him in his own pub. Tell me you are disappointed that I'm not able to contain my anger.”

“Why should I? I'm proud of you.”

She was taken aback. What?

“Proud of me? For threatening Ian?”

“No, not for threatening Ian. But because you haven't touched the drink. I wouldn't have noticed it, hidden in the tea and in a pub that already smells like a whole distillery.”

Ian came back, respectfully placed a new mug of tea in front of Lix, and disappeared quickly.

“I was tempted,” she admitted, sniffing the tea, “but then, I feared that he had spiced up your tea, too, and this apparently sent me over the edge.”

“So... you just protected me?”

“Let's say it helped me keeping my promise.”

“I'm glad you did.”

“So... you don't think I overreacted... threatening Ian?”

“Ian? No. He has brought that upon himself, he should have known better. And besides...”

For the first time an emotion crawled back into Randall's face, but a different one than she had expected.

Amusement.

Then, Randall started to giggle like a teenager.

“What?”

She didn't understand. For her, the situation had been very serious, nothing to laugh about.

“Oh, Lix! You should have watched that scene from my perspective. Ian's face...”

He was interrupted by his own giggling. She was unsure if she had ever heard Randall giggle. At least not that way. Not the last twenty years. It was quite catching.

“He... he literally looked at you like a rabbit to a stoat. Totally paralyzed...”

Lix couldn't help it. She started giggling, too.

“It... it...” Randall was still giggling, “it was such an uneven fight. Especially as you didn't look like a stout, you looked like a lioness: big, menacing, glowing eyes, every muscle ready to jump forward to bite his throat... or, more likely... his... man parts... and Ian, the poor little, scared rabbit...”

The amusement finally caught Lix completely. Her whole body shook from giggling, although she was also a bit ashamed of herself. She playfully slapped Randall.

“Randall, stop it! I start feeling sorry for Ian, if you go on like this.”

Randall slowly gained control again, took off his glasses, and wiped some tears of laughter from his eyes.

“Don't feel sorry Lix, you were right, and I think, _now_ he will really never dare to slip anyone a drink again. Oh, Lix...” he leaned his shoulder against her shoulder, “when we are in a shady part of town, _you_ will protect _me_ , not the other way round. I'm sure you can intimidate an armed to the teeth street gang if you are furious.”

She leaned her head against his.

“I will mop the floor with everybody who dares to harm you, Randall.”

She truly meant it and it was something she would never ever be ashamed of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you ever seen a stout catching a rabbit? Here you are: <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ODEUK5sB5vE>.


	12. The Dutchman {Randall}

A tall, lanky figure entered the pub, eyeing the whole room suspiciously, scanning it for possible dangers. Dressed in black corduroy trousers, vest, and coat, only contrasted by his white shirt, and wearing a large, black hat, his whole appearance seemed strange, ghostly, not completely from this world. This was underlined by the pale blue eyes sitting in a face that was so haggard it resembled a skull.

When Peter entered a room, it was as if death itself entered it. An appearance that made you shiver instantly.

It wouldn't have surprised anyone if it had been a scythe he was carrying over his shoulder. Yet, it was a guitar. He placed it on the bar and Ian took it carefully and placed it behind it, handing Peter a pint of lager in return. Peter gave Ian a short nod and took a big sip. Then he turned to face the crowd. Again, it seemed as if he was scanning it for potential danger, for someone who was coming for him, and for possible means to escape.

Then, his eyes met Randall's.

For a short moment, there was a flickering of recognition in them, accompanied by another emotion. Peter walked slowly towards the place where Lix and Randall sat.

“Randall,” he said, putting forth his hand which seemed disproportionate sturdy compared to the rest of his lanky body. Randall took it.

“Peter. Good to see you again.”

They shook hands and as always, Randall was surprised how much heartiness Peter could convey with a simple handshake. There was not the faintest hint of a smile on Peter's face, yet, this handshake told him that Peter was glad to see him.

And Randall was glad to see Peter. They both didn't like to talk much, but perhaps that made their friendship even deeper. Peter was, in a way, the brother he never had, and, although they hadn't spoken about it, he was quite sure Peter felt the same.

Randall let go and placed his hand on Lix's shoulder.

“Peter, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my future wife, Lix Storm.”

They shook hands.

“Lix.”

Peter said, sinking his pale blue eyes into Lix's warm blue orbs. It seemed as if he was measuring her, dissecting her, trying to make sense of her, deciding what to think of her, and then, putting her back together again.

“Good that you are here.”

He finally said when he let go of her hand, revealing for the first time his thick German accent. He spoke hoarse, low, and slow. Every word fell heavy into the room. It was the conclusion of his research on the depths of Lix's soul. In his judgment, it was good for Randall that she was together with him, and it was good for Lix that she had come up to Caithness.

It warmed Randall's heart. It wasn't as if he needed anyone's approval for who he had chosen to marry, but knowing that Peter agreed with his choice meant the world to him.

Peter's eyes now wandered from one to the other, and he nodded slowly.

“You need a bed.”

For a moment, Randall was at a loss what Peter tried to imply. But then, he understood and his face lit up.

“Oh, yes, the one in the cottage was excellent when I was alone, but now,” he wrapped his arm around Lix's shoulder and pulled her closer, “it would be great if you could build a double bed for the two of us.”

“Good,” Peter pulled the brim of his hat and nodded, accepting the order, “four weeks.”

“That's great. You don't need to hurry, though. We have to go back to London tomorrow and I'm not sure when we will be back in Berriedale again.”

Peter tilted his head and gave Randall a long and thoughtful stare, rubbing his chin.

“Wait not too long.”

Randall knew Peter well enough to know that his words bore meaning. At the moment, however, he wasn't sure what he wanted to tell him. Instead of asking, he tilted his own head in the same direction as Peter's and frowned, knowing it would be enough of a request to elaborate.

“Healing,” Peter said, making a wide gesture that encompassed Randall and Lix, “the cottage. Walks. Sitting. Talking. Sleeping. Healing... time. Together. You... need... time.”

“I know, Peter, I know,” Randall sighed, searching for Lix's hand under the table, finding it, holding it close. “Don't worry. We will both try to make time to come up here again, soon.”

Peter slowly shook his head and sank his eyes into Randall's.

“Not try... do!”

He said, calm, but determined.

“Promise!”

Randall nodded. Talking to Peter was always intense. Those pale blue eyes could see in the farthest, darkest corners of his soul. But tonight, Randall wanted to forget, not remember, and so, he changed topic.

“Will you play tonight, Peter?”

Peter shook his head.

“Allan and Ann's evening.”

“So... why the guitar?”

Peter frowned, then looked over Randall's head, letting his eyes see something only he could see in a far, far distance, not of the pub, but his mind. There was a hint of a smile, a short gesture of his fingers, as if he was conducting an orchestra, then, he focused again on Randall.

“A man who has a guitar fair,

can always play a tune,

in rooms so dim, in open air,

at midnight or at noon.

A man who has no guitar, though,

will sit in silence, grim,

may moon be high or sun be low,

no tune will come to him.”

Randall grinned, because he knew what Peter expected.

“William Shakespeare?”

“Peter Wagner.”

“Very well, then. Maybe inspiration hits you tonight, anyway. I love your songs and your poetry.”

The faint smile appeared again on Peter's lips, only for a short moment.

“We... will see.”

Peter shook Randall's and Lix's hand again. Randall had never found out if Peter shook hands so often because he was German or if it was just a personal quirk.

Peter went to sit at the bar and from behind, his tall, lanky frame looked even more like a skeleton in a corduroy dress.

“He's a bit scary,” Lix whispered, still holding Randall's hand.

“Peter? Well, he may look a bit like a ghost, but he is a good one.”

“A German?”

“Yes. A carpenter. Fled from the Nazis and came here during the war under mysterious circumstances.”

“You know them?”

“Some.”

“Randall, you start to be just as cryptic as this Peter guy.”

“Lix. You know your secrets are always safe with me. And, just the same, Peter's secrets are safe with me. There is just one thing you need to know about Peter: if I get lost in the deepest, blackest night, and I wouldn't have eyes to see, and my hands were numb, and I couldn't use my ears, and you weren't with me, _my_ Lix, I would trust Peter to be my eyes, and my hands, and my ears.”

“You are both poets, you and Peter,” Lix smiled a beautiful, tender smile at him.

“He is a poet for sure. He doesn't like to make many words. Unless they rhyme. Or have a melody. Peter wrote some wonderful poems about this area. And beautiful lyrics for songs. Maybe he will play tonight when it gets late and he feels like it.”

Randall stared for a moment to Peter's back. His friend. His _brother_. “The Dutchman”, they called him, although he came from Germany. He didn't know if it was because of his appearance, his accent, or his surname. He only knew that he was a man who had seen and suffered unspeakable cruelty. And as what he had experienced was unspeakable, he ceased to speak. He only said what was absolutely necessary. Yet, there was a part deep within his soul which had survived and stayed pure and unharmed. And this was the part that created the most beautiful poetry. And the part that cared. For him. For Lix. For everybody who needed a bed or a song. He just hoped that someday, in the future, things would turn brighter, and it would be possible for Peter to find a pathway to the light. A light he had already found in _his_ Lix. He turned to look into her eyes.

“Me? I'm not a poet. But I'm a lucky man. I have you and I have friends like Peter and Lissy. That's why I think I can lose all my abilities and still will never be lost.”

He squeezed Lix's hand tight. She wanted to say something, but the band started playing and so they both ceased their conversation and focused on Allan playing the guitar and Ann playing the flute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who wondered, for me, the Dutchman wears a German carpenter's attire: <https://www.carbatec.com.au/article/134/Journeymen-german-woodworking>


	13. The Old Man of Berriedale {Lix}

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might want to have the tune of [“The Braes Of Balquhidder”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOK3cAZCSoM) in your ear before reading the fic. It is one of the assumed predecessors of the more famous “Will Ye Go, Lassie, Go” / “Wild Mountain Thyme”.

Lix and Randall enjoyed sitting in their little, comfortable corner, listening to Allan and Ann playing and singing, old folk classics, newer songs known from the radio, and also some of their own compositions. Allan would introduce the songs, sometimes joking in between, sometimes giving a few instructions on a dance which he considered fitting the next piece.

However, as it was still early, there were only a few people brave enough to dance. Lix suspected that the rest wasn't drunk enough, yet. She would have loved to dance for a bit, to forget and just relish the feeling of music taking over her body. She suspected however that Randall wasn't here for it. He had explicitly said so. Well, maybe if it turned late, she could convince him or find others who were willing to dance with her.

“Well, I guess there is one song you all like to hear, right?”

Allan grinned now, as he played a few chords on his guitar.

The crowd cheered.

Lix reasoned that they were expecting something like the anthem of Berriedale. From the chords it resembled “The Braes Of Balquhidder”.

“Well, you could say this is a Berriedale song...”

More cheers from the crowd.

“I, at least call it 'The old man of Berriedale' although that's technically not correct as the main character isn't from Berriedale. However, it is a story my dear old Ian over there tells frequently,” and he nodded into the direction of the innkeeper, who grinned all over his face, accompanied by more cheers, “well, we all know Ian, and so we can expect that there are some exaggerations in it...”

There crowd laughed and cheered.

“Anyway, it happened here, and so, it is a Berriedale story, and a Berriedale song. The words of it are beautiful, and I'm allowed to say that, because I have not written them. They were written by the poet of our hills, the Dutchman.”

Allan pointed to the hunched figure sitting at the bar, who gave not a single sign he noticed that he was praised. The crowd cheered him, anyway.

“And it is a love song. They say that all Scottish love songs are sad and that it is meant to be that way because for a Highlander love means suffering, and I don't know whether this is true, but when I heard the story for the first time I thought that it was a truly Scottish one. However, without much further ado, here it is 'The man up the hill' or 'The old man of Berriedale', written by our own dear Dutchman, Peter Wagner.”

Allan started playing, Ann joined in, playing the flute. Allan's voice this time was hushed and low, as it carried all the passion and sadness of the song.

_There's a man up the hill,_

_and he's seen all the sorrow._

_He walked in from the chill,_

_with no hopes for tomorrow._

_No one tells you the name,_

_of this man, oh so valiant,_

_for the moment he came,_

_all he was, he was silent._

_But I tell you a tale,_

_oh a tale that is dire,_

_of a man and his trail,_

_how he came to this shire._

_It's a story of love,_

_and of war and of sorrow._

_And no mercy above,_

_for this man in his burrow._

_He had loved her so dear,_

_and she was such a beauty._

_And oh, how they were near,_

_as they both did their duty._

_They marched side by side,_

_as the battle was raging._

_But of fear and of pride,_

_they were never engaging._

Lix felt Randall's hand searching for her hand. Only now she realized that there could be a connection between the words of the song and Randall's own story. She took his hand and intertwined their fingers. When she turned her head she saw him looking at her, nearly shyly. She gave him an encouraging smile and squeezed his hand.

Ann was playing an interlude on the flute, which added to the sadness of the song. Then, Allan continued the story of the two lovers who lost each other.

_Oh, the war came and took,_

_all the good, all the pleasure._

_And with only one look,_

_he had lost all his treasure._

_Oh, his true love is gone,_

_no redeeming him, ever._

_Though the war may be won,_

_he has lost her forever._

_Now he walks through the hills,_

_and the glens, and the heather._

_He won't mind all the chills,_

_of the cruel, ghastly weather._

_He is lost like his love._

_He is lost like a sailor._

_He won't see the peace dove,_

_for he is his own jailer._

Lix felt that. She felt the words of the song. She felt that she also was the jailor of her own soul. But she didn't know how to free herself. As if Randall had felt what she was thinking, he pecked a kiss on her temple right at this moment. She looked up surprised and saw the tender smile and the love in his eyes. It was Randall's story.

He murmured something in her ear that she couldn't understand properly but sounded like: “My dove stayed persistent enough to free me.”

_So, once you meet him,_

_look at him and take pity,_

_for his looks may be prim,_

_but you now know the ditty._

_It's as old as the sea,_

_and as old as the mountains,_

_And as old as the glens,_

_and as old as the fountains._

_Oh, take notes, my dear lads,_

_all you lassies, take warning._

_Forget all of your fads,_

_and before the next morning,_

_tell the one that you love,_

_that you love them so dearly,_

_that you stay by their side,_

_and you mean it sincerely._

_There's a man up the hill,_

_and he's seen all the sorrow._

_He walked in from the chill,_

_with no hopes for tomorrow._

_His fate may be sealed,_

_he has ceased his endeavor._

_But your hearts can be healed,_

_don't be lonely forever._

“So, I guess you all know the drill, right?” Allan shouted as he kept playing the melody on the guitar. The crowd cheered and howled.

“Okay, once again, for those who are new in town, or old in town, too old to remember, you know?”

Some single laughter.

“Okay, so, we will repeat those last two verses and I want you all to sing along, each and every one of you. But when you do that, I want to see you holding someone tight! It might be your husband, your wife, your lover, your long-term love interest, your best pal, your neighbor, heck, I don't care if it is your shepherd dog! Just place your bloody arms around the shoulders or the hips of someone, hold them real tight, and sing along with me, will you?”

Apparently, one of the reasons why this song was so popular was this moment as it would allow people to unabashedly hold someone they wanted to hold tight for a long while. There was a short moment until everybody has found their counterpart, some being more reluctant than others.

Randall had of course immediately placed his arm around Lix's shoulder and she was wrapping her arm around his hip. They already sat tight, but they made sure they had the maximum body contact possible.

Allan grinned when he was satisfied with what he saw in front of his eyes. He started playing again, starting to sing, but falling silent from time to time to listen to the guests of the pub singing.

_Oh, take notes, my dear lads,_

_all you lassies, take warning._

_Forget all of your fads,_

_and before the next morning,_

_tell the one that you love,_

_that you love them so dearly,_

_that you stay by their side,_

_and you mean it sincerely._

_There's a man up the hill,_

_and he's seen all the sorrow._

_He walked in from the chill,_

_with no hopes for tomorrow._

_His fate may be sealed,_

_he has ceased his endeavor._

_But your hearts can be healed,_

_don't be lonely forever._

Randall sang along nearly unnoticeable, more speaking than singing . Still, Lix found it endearing and wished he would sing louder.

She herself sang with her whole heart, not caring what people thought of her voice. She knew she was not always hitting the right notes, but she didn't care. It was a way of releasing some of her troubles . Letting them out into the open. Making the pain inside more bearable. Finding truth in the words of the song.

When her gaze was traveling over the couples in the pub, some obviously long-term lovers, others friends, others strangers, it was halted by a rather odd couple.

Ian had left the bar, stood with a wide stance, and sang with a clear, bright tenor that was a confusing contrast to his sturdy figure. His chunky arm was wrapped around Peter's scraggy shoulders and although the Dutchman was taller than Ian it looked as if a gigantic owl had taken a small sparrow under its wing.

And the silent sparrow, a glistering in his eyes, leaned into the protective hold of the singing owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A reader commented the singing in the pub reminded them of this piece: [Damien Rice & Cantus Domus - Trusty & True](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7kloFm-W_-Q&feature=emb_logo) \- watch it to the end, heck, yes, it fits!


	14. Claire McCall {Randall}

As Randall had suspected, the later the evening got, the more drunk the guests got. The more drunk they got the more they sung, which was nice. But also, the more they _danced_. He hated dancing. He never understood how people could memorize and put into action all those complicated moves, turns, changing of partners, and all those things you did with your body in general in Scottish folk dancing. It seemed to have no symmetry, no logic, no pattern for him. It just confused him.

Lix had tried to nudge him into dancing when Allan had picked the drum and Ann the accordion to play “Mairie's Wedding”, but he refused. He was not going to make an idiot of himself – again.

She had not insisted but he could tell she craved to dance. She rocked her foot and her shoulders to the tunes, and there was a certain twinkling in her eyes while she watched the dancers.

Lissy came along.

“Oh dear,” she sighed, looking from Randall to Lix and back again, “you can say a lot of things about Randall Brown, even some nice things, but Sir Dance-A-Lot he is not.”

Lix beside him giggled, shrugged and nodded. Randall blushed because, of course, Lissy had nailed it.

“Come on, Lix, we show that old grump how 'Gay Gordons' is done.”

Lissy put forth her hand, Lix took it, and they started to dance. It didn't look too complicated. Yet, he was sure he would make a mess of it.

Then, Allan called the “Dashing White Sergeant” and Randall watched in horror the complicated changing of partners. Lix managed with ease. Either she was a natural or she had practiced Scottish dances before.

It gave him a sting of jealousy seeing her smiling at a grey-haired farmer with broad shoulders who eyed her a bit too keenly for his liking while swinging her around.

“Randall Brown. Not brave enough to be her dashing white sergeant, yet, not ashamed to be a green-eyed monster lurking in the back of the pub.”

An amused voice stated. He turned his head to see Claire McCall. Small, white-haired, and supporting her fragile body with two canes, she looked as if she was two days older than Noah. Yet, her intelligent, attentive, curious, piercing green eyes were as young and agile as ever.

“Miss McCall!” Randall stood up, straightened his back and made a bow as if he was greeting the Queen herself.

Claire McCall smiled, took both canes in her left hand, reached out with her right hand, and Randall bowed a bit deeper, so the small woman could grab his earlobe and pull it, then giving him three affectionate pats on the cheek, and finish her greeting procedure by poking his nose.

“Randall, you little rascal! Did the bad boys in London beat you up so you have to come running for your auntie Claire again?”

“That... sums it up.”

Claire McCall was the grande dame of Berriedale. Technically she came from Thurso, but she inherited a feudal mansion by the seaside near Berriedale and for some reason she liked to spend most of her time there – or at Ian's pub. Maybe she had 'adopted' the regular guests because she didn't have a family. Just like she had 'adopted' Randall instantly when he first came here. She treated him as if he were her nephew. Maybe the black sheep who had moved to London and did a job she thought of as stupid, but her nephew, anyway.

“And the lass you look at like a beaten puppy?”

“That's Lix Storm, my future wife, at least if that fellow doesn't convince her that it's better to dance home with him.”

“That's _Lix_? _That_ Lix? _Your_ Lix? Great Scott, you really managed to find her? Or has she found you?”

“She found me.”

He didn't elaborate on the details. It wasn't important. That Lix was here was important.

“And she is mad enough to marry you?”

“Seems like it, yes.”

He couldn't help but beam at the thought.

“You must have been a really good laddie, then, Randall!”

Claire smirked.

“Seems like it, Ma'am.”

“She's gorgeous, Randall. Do you really want to let her dance alone, with all those handsome lads around? There are quite some acres of farmland, cattle, and sheep looking for a wifey on the dance floor right now. And your Lix looks like she can stop a crazed ram and throw him on his back if necessary.”

Randall had to admit that he had never looked at Lix from the perspective of a sheep breeder, but that he could picture her doing exactly that. She knew how to throw him on his back, after all.

“The thing is, I just don't have the feet for dancing, Miss McCall.”

“Ay, Randall, I know. But look at mine, they are basically useless for walking right now. So, what? I use the canes and trudge on! Nothing stops you when you set your mind on it.”

“I can't memorize three steps in a row, and even if I do, I would never be able to do this.”

Randall pointed to the dance floor where they now changed to some complicated dance with four couples. He didn't even know the name of it. And he saw how Lix was laughing while she danced. He hadn't seen her so carefree in ages. Not ever, since Spain.

“Ay, so what Randall, so what? Are you going to sit in your little corner, staring at her like a sullen kid at a stick of rock it can't reach?”

Randall had no idea what Claire wanted to tell him. He couldn't dance, this was a fact. Was she expecting him to dance, anyway, _showing_ everybody that he couldn't? He didn't mind what the rest of the pub thought, but he didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of Lix. He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. 

Claire sighed.

“It is really hard to believe. They say you are one of the smartest heads at the BBC, Randall. Doesn't give me much hope for the rest of that shop. Come on, no one can blame you for being a bad dancer if you are just guiding your old auntie to the dance floor.”

She leaned one of her canes to the table and put forth her hand. Randall hesitated, not really sure what her plan was.

“Ah, come on, Randall, lady's choice! Were you raised by wolves? It is rude to refuse a lassie like that.”

Randall took her hand. Although Claire was leaning on his arm for support, she was _pulling_ _him_ towards the stage. He had no idea how she managed to do that. 

Claire McCall really was a remarkable woman.


	15. The Dance {Randall}

“Allan, play something slow and not too complicated for your old, footsore auntie, will you?”

When Claire McCall ordered someone to do something, no one ever dared to oppose her. She just had that natural authority of a good captain. If she commanded something, you just did it, because it made sense.

So, Allan just nodded.

“Some Strathspey, Miss McCall? Maybe... “

He looked to his wife, who exchanged the accordion for the fiddle, tuning it.

_“ The Bonnie Lass of Bon Accord?“_

_ Ann suggested.  _ Claire gave them a thumbs up with her raised cane.

“Yes. And a second one with the same steps, your choice. And after that give me some good old waltz. St. Bernard's or something like that.“

Ann and Allan nodded. After some tuning, they started to play the slow melody.

“You are awesome kids, the two of you!“

Claire shouted, then focused her attention on Randall.

“Okay, Randall, we don't care for what the others dance to this tune, right? It is just the two of us here, and everybody knows I'm nearly paralyzed, so no one will take notes who is goofing up. Let's look if auntie Claire can't teach you a step or two, just enough you don't embarrass the whole South of Scotland with your dancing!“

And Claire tried. She did her best to show Randall the most basic steps. And Randall tried, he really did. Only that his brain really wasn't made for dancing. After the first dance, he had at least learned a decent traveling step, but the rest was hopeless. So, Claire settled to teach him how to avoid stepping on his partner's toes and something that faintly resembled waltzing steps.

“You are a good lad, Randall. It is just that our dear Lord gave you the legs of a donkey instead of a man. But don't worry, I think you are fit to survive a waltz or two with Lix without hurting her.“

Randall hoped that this meant he was released from this ordeal.

He had noticed that the others danced something much more complicated than the simple steps Claire had tried to teach him. He was deeply embarrassed how much he was unable to grasp what seemed so easy for others. He saw Lix traveling by, arm in arm with the grey-haired farmer he had noticed before.

“And now,“ Claire smiled whimsically, “part two of the maneuver to get you back into the arms you belong.“

With a bold step Randall had no idea where it came from, Claire swirled them into the next dancing formation.

She waited a few seconds until the couples stepped away from each other, then she set her cane between Lix and the farmer, released Randall so he stumbled into Lix's direction and clawed into the farmer's arm.

“Shawn McGregor! Long time, no see. Now give your old auntie Claire a nice little waltz, will you?“

Randall heard Claire exclaiming behind him, while he somehow managed to land in Lix's arms without pulling her to the ground.

“Randall?“

Lix stared a bit surprised at him and his unexpected appearance. He felt terribly out of place and didn't have any idea what to say. He avoided to look into her eyes and blushed.

Fortunately, Claire had gotten the timing exactly right. The band stopped playing after just a few more turns, so Randall managed to complete the dance without looking stupid.

“So, you finally decided to come and risk dancing with me? That's really nice. You could have waited until this dance was over, though.“

He just managed an unintelligible stutter.

“Bear with him,“ Claire chimed in, leaning half onto Shawn, half onto her cane, “Randall is just like a growing puppy, the paws are too big, the limbs are too lanky, and he doesn't really know what to do with them, but if you train him well, he will be able to do what you want him to do. He's a good lad, all things considered.”

Randall blushed even deeper but sensed halfway safe territory now.

“Miss McCall, may I introduce you to Lix Storm, my fiancée. Lix, Claire McCall, uhm...”

It occurred to him that he had no idea how he should introduce Claire to her.

“I'm Randall's aunt.”

A surprised expression crossed Lix's face.

“Well, I'm everybody's aunt, actually. Shawn here is just as much my nephew as Randall, and Ian, and Allan, and almost everybody here. I would be delighted to have you as my most recent niece, Lix.”

“It would be my pleasure, Miss McCall,” Lix said with a perfect formal curtsy. Randall had never seen her doing one. Lix Storm didn't pay visible respect to anyone who hadn't already proven themselves worthy of it. Then, he remembered that he also made a bow whenever he met Claire McCall. It was something about her natural authority that made it seem the only fitting thing to do.

“You are a fine lassie, Lix,” Claire smiled, raising her hand with the cane, giving her a bump to the chin, “now, look if you can teach this dork how to waltz, and good luck!”

Allan and Ann started playing “St. Bernard's Waltz” and Claire started dancing with Shawn.

Randall took Lix's hands and started moving, his eyes firmly looking to his feet to make sure he found the places to put them without stepping on her shoes.

“Randall, look into my eyes.”

He kept his eyes down.

“I can't. If I take my eyes off my feet, I have no idea if I step at the right place.”

“Randall... just do it. Trust me, look into my eyes and keep moving.”

“I don't want to step on you.”

“You won't. Trust me. Just look into my eyes.”

He reluctantly lifted his head to meet the blue eyes that meant the world to him. He wanted those eyes to appreciate him, find value in him, even look up to him, not to see him fail like that.

“Randall, dear. You look like a wounded warrior in an uphill battle.”

She freed her right hand and brushed a sweaty strand from his forehead. He hadn't been aware he was sweating. How embarrassing. As if he didn't feel miserable enough already.

“It is just dancing, not war. It is not a life-threatening situation. Relax. You can't really hurt me, even if you step on my toes. They have seen worse...”

He heard her words, but he couldn't follow with any logical action. He knew he was stiff as a poker, helplessly doing something, _anything,_ with his feet. He couldn't relax even if he wanted to.

With Claire it had been embarrassing, but okay. He always felt like a stupid little schoolboy with Claire, but that was alright, everybody did. With Lix, however... he had seen how happy she had been when she was in the arms of that farmer, that _Shawn._ Happy and carefree. It were, like so often, the little things he was failing in. Dancing. Every man in this room was able to do it, to provide the joy it brought to their loved ones. Only he failed. It was him, Randall Brown, as always, _failing at being_ _normal_.

“You are not in control, I think that is what happens, Randall.”

Lix's hand traveled to his neck and started to rub small circles there.

“You are not in control and this sends your body in a state of maximum alert and probably paralyzes your brain, too. But this isn't necessary. It contradicts the idea of dancing as something enjoyable. It is okay _not_ being in control. It is somehow one of the basic ideas of dancing... _feeling_ instead of _controlling_. I'm here, I got you, I'll guide you, you just follow along with my movements.”

She pulled him a bit closer to her body. The contact, feeling her warmth and her movements, somehow took some of the pressure and helped him relaxing a bit. He felt a bit more secure. A bit less miserable.

“See, and now you just move your legs where you feel mine going. We might dance closer than the rest, but nobody cares. They are all already drunk enough. And besides, it doesn't matter what they think about you and me, right? We are together and everybody is allowed to know that. We don't care what they think. You and me, that's the only thing that matters. We dance as close as you need it to feel secure. And when the music is over, we retreat in your safe corner and everything is going to be alright again.”

He heard her words and finally they sunk in. Lix was there. He felt her body close to his. He could relax. She was guiding him. There was nothing to be afraid of. He didn't need to feel insecure. He was safe. His Lix was with him. He just did what her body told him, feeling where his feet needed to go instead of concentrating on his legs. It worked.

The moment the music ended he felt both: relief that they could retreat to their table, but also, regret that he didn't feel her body as close as before, that the feeling of being guided, to be under Lix's control, was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Bonnie Lass of Bon Accord ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gyvgn96QN7U)is really slow and comparably simple, and [St Bernard's Waltz](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nILvW28T39I) is a really slow waltz, but, alas, our Randall just isn't a dancer. That's okay, he has other qualities...


	16. Dancers and Non-Dancers {Lix}

Lix guided Randall back to their table. Randall let himself slump into the corner, looking like a warrior after a long battle he had finally lost. The sight was both endearing and amusing. And somehow... very attractive. She would have loved to kiss him right there and then. Only her good breeding – and knowing he felt uncomfortable with too obvious signs of affection in public – kept her from snogging him senseless in front of everybody.

“I'm proud of you.”

She murmured instead, letting herself sink to the seat beside him.

“For what?” He raised a surprised and doubtful eyebrow. “For making a complete idiot of myself in front of everybody?”

“For dancing with me in spite of knowing it is difficult for you and you don't like it.”

She snuggled up to him.

“Aunt Claire didn't leave me much of a choice,” he sighed.

“Doesn't matter. You did it, and it was very nice.”

Lix pecked a kiss in the corner of his mouth, which earned her an even more surprised look and a blush.

“I'm sure you could learn how to dance, given enough time. I think it is just you never learned how to feel the music and let your body follow it.”

“I doubt I have the brain for feeling something like that.”

“Oh, I can assure you you have all sorts of body parts – including your brain – that very well know how to act following your feelings.”

She let her hand crawl around his waistband and then, for the shortest of moments, travel down and brush over his backside before she put it back on the table. It had the intended effect: Randall's ears turned deep red, and he had no idea what to do with his hands or where to rest his eyes.

Lix smiled, but took mercy on him, got up, and went to the bar.

She ordered a coke for Randall and a tonic for herself. She didn't take her eyes off Ian preparing the drinks for a single second.

“You are the leery type, Lix.”

Ian remarked as he handed her the two glasses.

“Just as long as you are the scheming type, Ian.”

“Me? The scheming type? I'm the most honest soul in Berriedale.”

Ian placed his right hand on his heart, raised his left to the sky, and looked at Lix like innocence personified. Lix sniffed both glasses, anyway. Ian gave an annoyed groan. Then, Lix noticed something in the corner of her eye. She turned her head to see Peter shaking.

“Are you alright, Peter?”

She was really concerned for the skinny man. He turned his face to her, still shaking. There was nearly no motion in his skull-like face save for the corners of his mouth, which were twitching. But his pale, ghostly eyes sparkled.

Amused.

Peter was amused.

He nodded, then slowly pointed to Ian, then to Lix.

“You two. Ian's face. Best joke tonight.”

And he continued to shake. In his own, repressed way, Peter was laughing from the bottom of his heart. It was a strange, but somehow heartwarming sight and Lix gave him a warm smile before she returned to Randall with their drinks.

Randall took a large sip of coke, then leaned back, sighing, looking a bit less miserable now.

“How did you manage to make Peter laugh?”

“Oh, Ian claimed he was the most honest soul in Berriedale and that obviously sent him.”

Randall grinned.

“Well, that's a good one, indeed.”

Lix took a sip of tonic, just now realizing how thirsty she was from dancing. She emptied her glass with just a few large gulps. It would have been better with gin, but it also had some big advantages to be sober on an evening like this. With a clear head it was much more interesting seeing others losing control over themselves when they drank. She watched the dance floor, seeing how couples met, how some were perfect dancers, some became better after a few drinks, and some barely were able to keep themselves upright when becoming too drunk.

“It is okay, Lix.”

She turned her head to see Randall's eyes resting not upon the crowd, but upon her. There was a melancholic streak in his eyes, and deep affection. She didn't know what he wanted to tell her.

“What?”

“It is okay, Lix. You love dancing. You don't have to hold yourself back just because I can't. Go. I'm sure they are already waiting for you.”

As if Randall were a prophet, right at this moment, Shawn appeared.

“Lix, we need another lass for _Miss Johnstone of Ardrossan_ ,” the big, handsome farmer smiled, offering her his hand, letting his eyes travel over her body.

She took a last look at Randall, who just nodded, a strange expression on his face.

As the familiar tune started playing, she forgot the world around her and placed her steps, quick, sure, and light, to the melody she loved since she had been a child, since they had classes in folk dancing in school and she discovered the excitement of moving her body to the rhythm, letting it carry her away into dreamworlds and fantasies where things turned out alright. A world with villains and dragons, but also, white knights and wise witches, fairies and unicorns, magic and secrets, castles and caves, and always a happy ending where the princess got her prince.

After this dance, there was another one. And another one. And a next one.

She hadn't felt so alive in years. The dancing, moving to the music, and, yes, feeling the eyes of some of the men upon her. Feeling she could still turn some heads and get some compliments. Not that any man in this room really would have had a chance to succeed, except for Randall. It was just nice, feeling she hadn't lost all her attraction with age.

After the next dance, she felt a bit thirsty and exhausted. She excused herself to go back to their table.

To her surprise, Randall was gone.


	17. The Coat {Lix}

Lix reasoned that Randall would probably be back in a minute, especially as his coat still hung on the coat rack by the door. She ordered another tonic, keeping a close eye on Ian while he poured it.

Peter had disappeared, too.

For a moment she chuckled inwardly at the thought that Randall and Peter went to the toilet together, like the common stereotype said about women.

She took her glass and sat down, watching the people on the dance floor, reflecting on the evening.

It had been an odd one so far. It was an evening Lix had learned much more about Randall than she had anticipated.

She had learned how much he had it in him to be a father. How he calmed the crying baby, gently rocking it, singing to it. How he encouraged Paddy to follow her dreams and practice her skills. How gentle and patient he could be if he put his heart into it.

She had learned that he, who she had always thought of as lone wolf and doubted he had any close friends, indeed had something like a family up here. Maybe not a family in the classical sense, not in the sense of of blood ties. His relationship to his true family seemed just as shattered as her own. But a family based on mutual love and care.

But there was also something else, something that just slowly dawned on her as she realized that Randall was not immediately returning to their table.

Insecurity.

There was an insecure core inside of Randall.

The insecurity she felt when they danced – or moved over the dance floor with something that faintly resembled waltzing steps – had been more than the insecurity of someone who was unable to dance.

It was more.

The man who always seemed to be in control. Always sure of what he did. Always knowing what he wanted and how he wanted it...

When he wasn't in control... it... outright _scared_ him!

That side of Randall was new to her.

He always seemed so sure of himself...

Even when he fled from London, he had been in control. Or had fled to the place where he knew he would regain control.

So, if he was missing _now_...

He was trying to _regain_ control!

But what was he _doing?_ In the middle of the night? A cold, starry September night to begin with. And without a coat?

Maybe Lissy had an idea.

She searched the room with her eyes. Lissy was occupied with a farmer on the other side of the room. Obviously he needed a bit of cheering up. Lix didn't want to interfere with her business.

Lix sipped her drink, regretting there wasn't any gin in it. It would have helped her thinking.

She contemplated to ask Ian for a dash of gin but figured she couldn't very well do that after the telling-off she gave him earlier on.

She leaned back and tried to imagine what Randall did when he was out of his depth, in need of regaining control.

The pictures came back.

Randall standing on the edge of the cliff.

Stretching out his arms.

Then turning around, leaving the cliff.

Had he gone to the cliff?

To stand there and come to terms with his insecurities?

With the loss of control?

With himself?

Possible, but...

Without the coat?

How likely was that?

In September?

A rational man like Randall?

If Randall had left the coat behind, he wanted it to be exactly that way. He _wanted_ to be out there in the cold without a coat. There was no way he did this without purpose. Randall _never_ did anything without purpose. He _wanted_ to freeze.

Another picture crept into Lix's mind.

Randall sitting on a rock.

Randall sitting on a rock in the middle of a blizzard, contemplating to die.

She thought back on their night at the shore, the night he told her his story, how he sat on that rock in the snow...

“ _Not a bad way to die... nothing matters anymore, you know? ... I thought what a relief it would be. Not being there anymore. No more pain, no more sorrow, no more_ _thoughts_ _...“_

Her heart started beating frantically.

What if...

She jumped up.

She had to search for him in case he did something stupid.

She went to the coat rack and put on her coat. Her hand hovered over Randall's coat.

Would he be mad at her if she brought him the coat? Was it patronizing... no... _mothering_... to bring him that coat?

Randall had been running away like a moody teenager. He might very well react like one if she showed up with his coat.

But... the worst he could do was to refuse it.

To refuse her.

_Nonsense!_

Randall would never refuse her, would he?

Refuse the coat, yes!

Refuse her?

No.

That was the one thing she could be sure of.

If Randall was out there, freezing, she would bring him his coat.

He was still free to decide if he wanted to have it.

If bringing the man she loved his coat made her an overprotective mother hen, so be it!

She grabbed Randall's coat and went outside.


	18. Doubts and Fears {Randall}

Randall needed fresh air in his lungs. Usually, he didn’t mind the laughter, the singing, and the dancing, he enjoyed sitting in his corner, having his own thoughts about what unfolded before his eyes. Tonight, however, after the dancing disaster, he couldn’t stomach it any longer.

In the backyard, he took a deep breath and stared at his useless feet.

He heard the singing and the music from afar, but there was something nearer. The soft strumming of a guitar. He turned around and saw Peter sitting on the bench, hunched over his instrument, playing a low little melody.

Randall decided to sit next to him and have a listen.

If Peter had noticed him, he didn’t show it. He kept playing.

Randall took out his cigarettes, only to find the package empty. Obviously, he had smoked more this evening than he recalled. He sighed and folded the empty package meticulously in a way it became a neat little square.

“Troubles?”

Peter’s voice was so low he could have mistaken it for a breath. It was Peter’s offer to talk about it, giving Randall the excuse he had just missed it if he didn’t want to talk.

Randall leaned back and stared to the sky. It was a rather cold starry night. Beautiful in its own right. Maybe a bit cold for sitting outside, but he didn’t mind.

“She looks so happy when she dances.”

He just said, not sure if his brain had made enough sense of his feelings to really talk about it.

Peter kept playing and hummed an agreement.

“She seems carefree. She looks so beautiful. The eyes of all men are upon her. Everybody _loves_ dancing with her. Wouldn’t be surprised if she gets a few offers tonight.”

He was jealous. Now, that he talked about it, he noticed it. He hadn’t thought about himself as the jealous type, but, obviously, he was. Not that he didn't trust Lix. But he was measuring himself against the competition and had to admit he didn’t quite make the cut with some of these men, given the looks, the skills, and what they had to offer.

“Farmer’s daughter?”

“Lix? No. Middle class. I think even upper middle class. Posh school. Plays piano and such things. Way out of my league…”

He craved a cigarette to occupy his hands with after he folded the package to the minimum possible square.

Peter stopped playing, rummaged in his pockets, brought about a crumpled package of cigarettes, and offered it to Randall. He took one with a thankful nod. He got lost in his thoughts, smoking.

“Gave her a reason?”

Peter resumed playing his melody.

“To run off with... Shawn? Well, I can’t dance.”

Peter just snorted at Randall’s remark.

“I can’t dance, I need to have things in a certain way or I can’t relax, I don’t own a big house in the country. I don’t play an instrument. I don’t like musicals, or theatre, or opera, or any of those posh things she grew up with.”

Randall started to use his fingers to count all the things he considered bad about him.

“I think not that Shawn likes them.”

Peter shrugged, playing some tune he didn’t recognize. Probably some musical reference. He hated musicals! But Randall had to admit that most of his arguments didn’t sound exactly plausible if you considered a sheep farmer as a rival.

He fell silent and finished his cigarette. Peter played the melody of “Gypsy Rover” beside him. Randall stared at the bum, not knowing what to do with it. There was no ashtray, he didn’t want to flip it to the ground but he also didn’t have the strength to stand up right now. So he just sat and stared at the bum smoldering in his hand.

Peter grabbed the bum from his hand before it could burn his fingers, flicked it to the ground, and stepped on it.

“Deer in the headlights.”

For the first time since they sat together on the bench, Peter looked Randall directly in the eyes. His pale blue orbs burned their way inside his mind, his heart, his soul, his whole being.

“You can’t _make_ Lix love you.”

Each word, spoken slow and gravely, fell heavy to the ground.

“You _can_ love her the best you can.”

Peter started playing again.

“She came. She found you. I see no reason for doubt.”

“That’s not it, Peter, that’s not it. I just doubt that I’m a good pick for her. She deserves better.”

Randall sighed.

“That is not your decision, Randall. Lix decides.”

Peter played the tune of “Rose of Allendale”. Randall was sure he tried to communicate something with it, but he was at a loss what. His mind was too messy to figure it out, so he decided to ask.

“What?”

Peter never sang. He had told Randall once that he had lost his voice in Germany while imprisoned in a camp, without telling him the details. Instead Peter spoke the words from the song that carried the meaning he wanted to convey.

“ _My life has been a wilderness_

_Unblessed by fortune's wheel_

_Had fate not linked my love to hers_

_The Rose of Allendale.”_

“True… only that no one ever heard Rose’s side of the story, right?”

Peter sighed and played the melody again to speak an earlier verse to it.

„ _Where e'er I wandered east or west_

_Though fate began to lour_

_A solace still was she to me_

_In sorrow's lonely hour_

_When tempests lashed our lonely barque_

_And rent her quivering sail_

_One maiden's form withstood the storm_

_'Twas the Rose of Allendale.“_

“You think that she came searching for me should tell me that she loves me and doesn’t consider someone else?”

Peter looked at Randall, suddenly raised his hand and knocked with three of his fingers against Randall’s head. With the other hand he knocked on his guitar, inducing a hollow sound.

“Wood,” he remarked, with a ghostly smirk in the corner of his mouth, “slow in thinking. But thinking right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter is a romantic. While Randall thinks he plays a melody from a musical, he plays Mozart. [“The Man Who Feels Sweet Love's Emotion“](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lT6spIfZuM8) from the opera The Magic Flute, which states that said man “will always have a kindly heart.“ and it continues “Each maid must share his deep devotion and from this duty never part. The joys of love shall be our own. We live by love, by love alone.“  
> Unfortunately, Randall is not versed enough in the world of music to understand what Peter tries to tell him. A bit unfortunate that the two friends speak such different languages...


	19. The Rose of Allendale & The Gypsy Rover

“Proof comes through the door.”

Peter shrugged and resumed playing his guitar.

Randall looked to the door and saw Lix coming towards him. She carried his coat. Why was she carrying his coat? It confused him so much that he just stared at his coat over her arm. He tried to make sense of it, but his brain didn't oblige. He kept staring at it, even when Lix stood in front of him, only a few feet apart.

“Randall?”

She sounded hesitant.

He couldn't say a word.

That happened, sometimes. When what was happening in front of his eyes was too confusing, not like he had expected or anticipated it, his brain just shut down and refused to process the information. He was not able to talk because he was not able to make sense of what was happening.

Lix was here.

That was good.

His coat.

This – was his coat.

Why was his coat here?

He hadn't taken it with him.

His coat belonged on the hanger.

In the pub.

On the coat rack.

On a hanger.

Yet, his coat was here.

“Randall, are you alright?”

He finally took his eyes from his coat and looked up to meet Lix's wonderful blue eyes. Had he told her how pretty they were? He needed to do that, as soon as he had gathered his thoughts.

She had asked him something.

“Yes, Lix, don't worry, everything is alright.”

He heard his own voice from afar. It didn't seem to belong to him.

“You don't seem alright, Randall.”

He stared at her, at the coat, then back at her.

“I... I brought you your coat. I thought you might be freezing without it. It is a rather cold night. I... hope this is okay?”

She sounded insecure. Why did she sound insecure? She brought the coat. That was why his coat wasn't on the hanger in the pub anymore. Lix took it and brought it. Suddenly, things made sense again.

Wait. She brought it because she thought he was freezing? Was he freezing? Now that she mentioned it, yes, yes, he felt a bit cold. He very well could use a coat now.

He slowly stood up and reached for his coat.

“How did you know?”

He asked, still not sure if this voice belonged to himself.

He put on the coat.

“It's not exactly nuclear physics to imagine you are freezing if you are outside without your coat, Randall. I mean, I'm quite sure you had considered that when you went outside, but imagined I should check on you, anyway.”

Lix helped him to get into the right sleeve.

“Why would you bring me my coat?”

He was still not sure his brain understood what was happening.

“Because I care, Randall... I... just hope this is okay... I mean... I'm not crossing a boundary here, do I? It is of course your choice if you want to freeze...”

She didn't want him to freeze. He couldn't recall the last time someone told him to put on a coat because it was too cold to go outside without one. And it had never happened to him that someone _brought_ him his coat just because they _thought_ he might be freezing.

He still was at a loss what to say. He was overwhelmed by the unexpected amount of care.

But maybe... she would understand when he showed her.

He stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms.

Tight.

His Lix.

“Thank you!”

He mumbled, resting his head against her head, clutching her shoulder, just to feel her, admiring her strength and her thoughtfulness.

“It is okay, Randall. Why did you run away?”

Good question. He hadn't known it when he went outside. He did understand it a bit better now. Yet, was he able to find the right words? He tried to piece an answer together.

“I was worried, you know?”

Lix stayed persistent when it took too long for him to reply. Worried? He had worried her? Oh. This was the last thing he wanted her to be.

“I'm sorry.”

“It is okay. I just wish you had told me where you are going. For a moment I wasn't sure if you... hadn't gone to the cliff again, you know?”

“I'm so sorry. I just... needed some fresh air and I... didn't wanted to disturb you. You looked so happy... dancing... with Shawn.”

“Awww, don't tell me you were jealous, Randall.”

He blushed. He hadn't wanted to admit it. But she sensed it, anyway.

“A bit, maybe. He is handsome. And _he_ can dance.”

“Oh, Randall...”

Lix freed herself from his grip, enough to look him in the eyes.

“...you know, for a _Head of News_ you are quite oblivious to some facts.”

Randall frowned. He didn't understand what she implied. He only knew that there was a tiny smirk in the corner of her mouth. He found it adorable. And this mouth just now placed a kiss on his nose.

“It doesn't matter if you can dance or not. And to me, you are much more handsome than Shawn. But this doesn't define your qualities as a man. Isn't it obvious that I love _you_ and have no intention to look for someone else? What else do I have to do to make you understand that?”

And before he could think about an answer, she kissed him.

This kiss told him everything he needed to know. It finally put his mind in the right order again. His Lix was here, and she kissed him, and she didn't consider anyone else. She went away from all the others, just to bring him his coat and make sure he was okay. He didn't need to question why. He could, just for a moment, just for tonight, enjoy this fact.

And suddenly, he understood completely what Peter had tried to tell him.

_Lix was his Rose of Allendale_

That was what she was.

He might not find the right words to say, but maybe he didn't need to, when there was a song for it.

Before he knew it, he sang.

Hushed and low, so only she could hear it.

_The moon was bright, the night was clear_

_No breeze came over the sea_

_When my Lix left her London home_

_And wandered forth with me_

_The flowers be-decked the mountainside_

_And fragrance filled the vale_

_But by far the sweetest flower there_

_Was the Rose of Allendale_

_Oh the Rose of Allendale_

_Sweet Rose of Allendale_

_By far the sweetest flower there_

_Was the Rose of Allendale_

And then, without knowing how and why, he was moving his legs to the melody. Well, he had no idea if it _fitted_ the melody, but he moved his legs the way he felt it needed to be, and Lix followed along.

_Where e'er I wandered east or west_

_Though fate began to lour_

_A solace still was she to me_

_In sorrow's lonely hour_

_When tempests lashed our lonely barque_

_And rent her quivering sail_

_One maiden's form withstood the storm_

_'Twas the Rose of Allendale_

_Oh sweet Rose of Allendale_

_Sweet Rose of Allendale_

_One maiden's form withstood the storm_

_'Twas the Rose of Allendale_

He didn't quite recall how the last verse started, so he just hummed the lines until he reached safe territory again because it were the lines Peter had just cited shortly before.

_Hmm hmm hmmmm hmmm hmmm_

_Hmm hmmhmmm hmmmhmm hmmm_

_Hmmm hmmm hmmm hmmm hmm_

_hmm hmmmm hmmmhmmhmm_

_My life has been a wilderness_

_Unblessed by fortune's wheel_

_Had fate not linked my love to hers_

_The Rose of Allendale_

_Oh sweet Rose of Allendale_

_Sweet Rose of Allendale_

_Had fate not linked my love to hers_

_The Rose of Allendale_

“See, I knew you could dance, Randall” Lix whispered in his ear when he finished.

And then she kissed him. Not chaste and comforting, but daring and full of desire.

She was his Rose of Allendale and he was her Gypsy Rover, and right now, he was completely sure that Shawn, no matter how good a dancer he was and how dashing he looked, would never find himself shoved against the wall of the Gunn Arms and kissed breathless by Lix Storm.

And this was _exactly_ how it was meant to be.


	20. Editorial Meeting {Lix}

Randall marked some mistakes and scribbled suggestions at the margins of Paddy's manuscript, occasionally sipping on his cup of tea. They had just finished breakfast and Lix watched him, critically.

“You won't be too harsh on her, will you, Randall?”

“Well, she wants to be a journalist, so she better learns the ropes early, right?”

“I mean... she is only ten. It is easy to hurt and discourage a child that age.”

Randall looked up from the manuscript and gave her a long, thoughtful look.

“Am I such a scary editor? At _The Hour_ I mean?”

“Well...”

Lix started but was interrupted.

“Mr. Brown?”

Paddy sounded hesitant as she approached their table.

“Paddy!” Randall smiled and glanced at his watch. “Right on time. Even a bit early, that's very professional! Come here, I'm nearly done.”

To Lix's surprise, Randall pulled the child on his lap so she could see what he did. He added his final corrections in silence with Paddy sitting on his knees. Paddy was watching the pen scribbling on the paper with curiosity, but also a hint of fear.

“Done! Shall we take a look, Paddy?”

Paddy nodded.

“So... I think it is an excellent story you have chosen. Great topic! There are a few writing mistakes which I have marked. I think you can submit it when you corrected them and they will assume it is written by an older child.”

Paddy breathed relieved.

“But, I wonder... if you would like me to show you a few tricks of the trade? Stuff that will make your story even more professional?”

“Like... as if it is written by a _real_ journalist?”

“Well, you did your research and wrote something you want to see published in a newspaper. To _me_ you already _are_ a real journalist, Paddy. At least a journalist in training. So, you want to learn some tricks from an elder colleague?”

Paddy nodded excited.

“Okay, so... here, at the beginning. You have a beautiful description of our landscape here. If you were in a foreign country and had to tell people how it looks over here, this would be great. Because your readers don't know anything about Berriedale, maybe not even anything about this part of Scotland. You have to tell them. Yet, your story is intended for the John o' Groat Journal and the readers of _that_ newspaper know the place already. They might not know the details, but by and large they know how it looks like over here. And they read a newspaper, not a novel, so they probably don't have time to read too long passages that don't contain new information.”

“So... you think I should discard the whole two passages at the beginning?”

Paddy frowned, thoughtfully looking at her manuscript.

“If I were you, I'd keep that manuscript, file it away somewhere for future reference. Maybe, someday you will need to write a description of this place for something else, then you can read it and maybe use some or all of the sentences again.”

“Ooooh, like a sketch of something that you use as a reference when you do the final drawing?”

“Exactly like that, Paddy. That's a very good comparison! Being able to draw connections and transfer your knowledge from one topic to another is an important skill for a journalist, you know?”

Paddy looked up to Randall and Randall smiled down, rubbing the child's shoulder.

And so they continued working through Paddy's manuscript, Randall pointing out passages that could be improved, explaining why, Paddy adding thoughts and asking questions. No sign of the strict, ruthless, and cynical editor Randall was feared for at the office. Lix wondered why he didn't show this side there, too. Emphatic. Caring about other's feelings. Avoiding to hurt them. If he had it in him, why didn't he use it more often?

“I think that's it... if I were you, I'd write a new version and when you are fully satisfied with it, I would write another one, on the best paper your father can find and with the nicest pen you can find. Make sure you don't get any stains on the final version you send to the journal. You never know how peculiar the editor-in-chief might be and you don't want to ruin your chances because of that, right?”

Paddy nodded.

“And then, I would write a letter to accompany it, stating what you thought of, that you think you could be a junior reporter for Berriedale and ask the editor-in-chief to read your story, consider it, and get back to you.”

Paddy nodded again, then paused.

“When will you go back to London, you and Miss Storm?”

“I think we'll drive around noon, Paddy.”

“Oh.”

Paddy sighed, disappointed.

“What is it?”

“Well, it will take me some time to do all that and so you can't read my letter to the editor to tell me if it is good!”

“You know why you are asking the editor to print your story, right?”

“Uh-hu.”

“And you know why it is a good thing to have you as a junior reporter in Berriedale, right?”

“Yes.”

“And we have worked on this text to make it a smashing newspaper story, right? By considering who will read it and how we make it fit to be read?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I don't think I have to read the letter to tell you that it is good. Because I already _know_ it will be good.”

“You really think that, Mr. Brown?”

“Hey, I'm a journalist. I don't tell lies, Miss Gunn.”

Randall smiled, and patted Paddy's back encouragingly.

“You might want to let your dad or Lissy read it for writing mistakes, but otherwise I don't doubt for a moment that it will be fine.”

“Okay, then, I got to work on this to make it perfect!”

Paddy beamed and slid from Randall's lap. She started for the door, turned around and went back to Randall to hug his neck.

“Thank you, Mr. Brown.”

“Always welcome, Miss Gunn!”

Lix watched the small figure disappear through the door.

“Don't you fear Ian is right... that she might be disappointed when the John o' Groat Journal turns her story down?”

“Why should they?”

Randall arched an eyebrow at her.

“Well, how high do you consider her chances? We all know how busy an editor-in-chief is, even at a small newspaper. And junior reporters are not exactly...common. At least not when they are ten-year-old girls.”

“Are they?”

An amused smile crinkled Randall's lips.

“You bloody well know that they aren't, Randall.”

Randall's smile broadened to a grin. He rested his chin on his hand.

“Lix, Lix, _my_ Lix... who do you think has already written a letter to the editor-in-chief of the John o' Groat Journal because he is an old friend?”

Lix couldn't grasp it.

“You? When?”

“This morning. You were tight asleep. I didn't want to disturb you. I got up, read Paddy's story for the first time, and then, sat down to write the letter to Wallace. Will be on its way to Wick as soon as the postman arrives. May be there before Paddy's or at the same time, depending how fast she will write.”

Randall shrugged.

“And you did write him he should print Paddy's story?”

“Oh, no, I would never interfere with a colleague's business in that way. I wrote him that I think it is important to involve children more in the process of making news if we want to gain them as future subscribers and viewers. And that I'm contemplating doing something like 'children's voices' or something along these lines as a feature at _The Hour_. Maybe two to five minutes of our broadcast. Either that, or a special news show for kids. Involving them in how news are made, foster their interest in politics and what goes on in this world. I'm convinced that if they get involved early on, and if we, as professionals, give them a chance to contribute, to bring their enthusiasm and their joy, and make their voices heard, there is a way better future for humankind lying ahead.”

Lix gazed at him, agape. Was he serious? Did he really consider this or was it just a way to manipulate his colleague to make him print Paddy's story?

“What? Don't you think it is a good idea?”

“I think it is a brilliant idea. I just have never thought of that...”

“Me, neither. It occurred to me yesterday evening, after Paddy told me about her idea. So, I stole her idea in a way.”

He looked thoughtfully into his cup of tea.

“Well, I think she will forgive me. Anyway, if her story really gets printed, it will be down to her having a brilliant mind, not because some stupid old BBC head weighed in on her favor. She can walk with her head held high if she achieves this. And if she doesn't... well, I will really try to push this idea forward once we are back in London, in case you wondered if I was serious.”

He looked up from his cup and gave her an apologetic smile.

She hadn't thought that it was possible to fall in love with someone she was already in love with.

But at this very moment, she fell in love with Randall.

Again.

Deeper than before.

His will to do something for a small girl with high hopes and dreams.

His ability to think outside the box and create something new.

His way of thinking about possible consequences of his interventions.

His thoughtfulness.

His humbleness.

His kindness.

Right in front of her, looking as always, a bit out of place and maybe even a bit out of time, very inconspicuous in his grey, modest suit, the full extend of his intelligence and gentleness sparkling in those blue-green eyes well hidden behind thick glasses, sat possibly the best man she ever knew.

And the best thing about it was that she didn't need to win his heart.

Because she already had it.


	21. The Lioness And The Wolf {Lix}

The car was packed and Lix and Randall were ready to leave. They had already said goodbye to Ian. Lissy and Paddy, however, had followed them outside to wave goodbye.

Lissy stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Randall. He answered accordingly. Lix felt a sting of jealousy because the way they held each other looked extremely intimate.

Randall had told Lix about the odd relationship he had with Lissy. How he had paid for her services, one of the few people he would pay for sex, but also for listening to his troubles and holding his hand when he found it hard to cope with himself. How it developed into a friendship, up to a point where Lissy found it wrong to let him pay for something a friend simply did for a friend. How Randall insisted on paying because he felt that he would have to pay for a therapist, otherwise. How they decided to secretly open an account on Paddy's behalf as a compromise. Money she would get on her 21st birthday to help her at the start of her own, adult life.

But it was one thing to know all that and another to see the man she loved in a tight, loving embrace, exchanging words of goodbye in a tone that indicated how close they were.

“You take good care of yourself, Lissy. And take good care of Paddy, she will need someone more intelligent than her dad to talk about her articles. And keep a good watch over Ian and Peter, will you?”

“Didn’t you promise me to worry less about everybody else, and worry more about yourself, Randall?”

“Didn’t you promise me exactly the same, Lissy?”

They both shared a laugh while they held each other.

“Don’t worry Randall, they are safe with me. I’ll try to create as much of a safe space for them as I can. And defend them like a lioness, should need be.”

“Sometimes I fear this lioness ignores the thorns in her own paws while defending her family.“

“Sounds like the advice from a wolf who can barely walk on all the thorns in his.“

“Don't worry. Lix will pull them out, one after the other, I guess. I hope you find someone who does the same for you, Lissy.“

“Don't worry, Randall. As long as I have my pack to care for, I can keep walking on these thorns.“

Lissy pulled Randall close once more, then let him go with one last affectionate touching of his cheek and a bittersweet smile.

Now, she turned to Lix.

Lix found herself wrapped into Lissy's strong arms and had to admit that it felt good. It felt like a warm, cozy blanket. Like being tucked in after a long, hard day in the freezing cold.

“Lix, dear, you take good care of yourself, will you?“

“I will. You, too.“

“No, Lix, I mean it.“ Lissy let go of Lix, put her hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Dear, I really mean it. _Take good care of yourself._ It is one thing to care for someone else. That's always easy. I don't doubt for a moment that Randall is in the best hands I can think of. Yet, I'm worried about _you_. Not that I think Randall can't take good care of you. But, you have to let him. You might fear that there are scars and wounds he will never understand. Yet, while he might never be able to grasp the full extend, you have to let him see them. A doctor can't bandage a wound if he doesn't know it is there in the first place, right?“

It was scary how Lissy was able to see inside of her, address her worst fears and know the darkest places of her soul. She didn't know how to respond to that. As if she had sensed it, Lissy hugged her tight again.

“It will be okay, dear. Everything is going to be alright. It is never as dark and scary as it looks. There is nothing that can't be forgiven, can't be talked about, can't be healed. I believe you will overcome it. You belong together, the two of you. There's nothing you can't tackle when you have a strong foundation in each other.“

Lix had the strange urge to bury her head in Lissy's breasts and cry for a bit, and let Lissy stroke her hair. She willed back the urge but suddenly understood a bit more what Randall had found in this woman. What perhaps a lot of people around here found in this woman.

“I'll try,“ she managed, biting her lip.

“Sometimes that's all it needs, Lix.“

Lissy smiled from her lips to her eyes to the wrinkles on her forehead, then pecked a small kiss on Lix's forehead.

In the meantime, Paddy and Randall had engaged in a vivid discussion, the beginning of which Lix had missed.

“...and so one calf is like this and the other lies like this, and see, that's why they think it's too high a risk to let it go natural, and so the vet will come and do a cesarean.“

Paddy just finished now a lengthy and detailed explanation, showing Randall some sketches she did of two calves in the womb of their mother in her notebook.

“Have you ever watched a cesarean, Mr. Brown?”

Randall denied.

“Me, neither. I'm sooo excited to see it. And, I mean, I already know what I will write in that letter, so I can do it in the afternoon, after I watched the cesarean. And I think it will just add to my experience. And maybe it would be even a new story, you know?”

“I agree, Miss Gunn!”

Randall nodded. Paddy nodded, too. Then she looked to her feet, nervously scratching the ground with her left one.

“Mr. Brown?”

“Yes, Paddy?”

“Would you... would you... be disappointed in me if I become a _vet_ instead of a journalist?”

To Lix's surprise, Randall hunkered down to be the same height as Paddy.

“Never! I will be never disappointed with what you chose to become, Paddy. You can become a vet, or a farmer, or an innkeeper like your dad, or a doctor, or a nurse, or a truck driver, or a car mechanic, or a nanny, or whatever the heck you want to become and I will never, ever be disappointed. As long as you don't become a horrible person who is mean to others, I will always be proud of you. Okay?”

Randall smiled, rectifying Paddy's flat cap in a way it sat accurately on her head.

“I will for sure never be mean to others. Maybe sometimes accidentally, but never, ever on purpose. Promise!”

She raised her left hand to swear it and put her right hand on her heart. Somehow, she looked a bit like Ian when she did this.

“I'm quite relieved to hear that, Paddy. Hug?”

Randall grinned, opened his arms and Paddy threw herself into them.

“When do you come back, you and Miss Storm?”

Randall looked up and met Lix's eyes, then looked back to the small figure who still hugged his neck.

“Well, that's not my decision alone anymore, you know, Paddy? Miss Storm has a schedule just as busy as mine, and I don't want to come here without her, do you understand that, Paddy?”

Paddy let go of Randall's neck and rubbed her nose, thoughtfully. Then, she nodded.

“Uh-hu. It is like I don't want to go anywhere without my cap since I have it.”

She said, pulling her flat cap so it sat slightly askew again. Randall laughed a quiet little laugh and Lix smiled at the scene, although she wasn't sure if she liked to be compared to a flat cap.

“Exactly like that, Paddy,” Randall confirmed, putting his index finger on her nose.

“It won’t be too long, Paddy. Now I know Randall has a family up here, I think we will find a way to squeeze in a trip to Berriedale every now and then.”

Lix smiled down at the small girl who still hugged Randall. Paddy looked at her and frowned. She let go of Randall’s neck and straightened her back, very much like Randall usually did. Then, she rectified her cap in a way it was askew in the opposite direction.

“This won’t happen, Ma’am!” She said, very determined, and very solemnly. “I know how that goes. You will marry and have kids together in the South and there will be no time to drive up here and visit us. It is always that way with strangers.”

The way Paddy stood there, very small, very sad, and very bravely accepting something she deemed one of the universal truths in life, made something clench in the deep dark pit of Lix’s chest. Tears filled her eyes and she hunkered down beside Randall so she was at eye level with Paddy.

“It won’t happen this time, Paddy, you know?”

Paddy eyed her critically, rubbing her sleeve under her nose.

“Why won’t it happen? Why should it be different, this time?”

Her tone wasn’t sad. It was scrutinizing, investigative, a small, critical reporter on a quest to find out. It was endearing. And felt a bit uncomfortable and awkward. But before Lix knew it, something inside had already let her blurt out the answer.

“Because I can’t have kids anymore, Paddy. I’m too old.”

There it was, out in the open. A truth that was so simple, but usually so hard to speak about. The fact that, out of pride and stupidity, she had ruined that option when she was younger. That she was now in her menopausal years and so there wasn’t the slightest chance for her and Randall to have kids together.

“Oh.”

Paddy said, taking her flat cap down, scratching her head, putting it on again. Lix felt Randall’s hand on her shoulder, squeezing it, reassuring her that they were in this together. Paddy stepped closer to her.

“Don’t be sad, Miss Storm,” she said and suddenly hugged her neck, carefully and a bit insecure. “Ian was also too old for kids but now he has me.”

Lix hugged Paddy back and was surprised how thin and almost fragile her body was. She was afraid to break her if she hugged her too tight.

“And he can be very glad you adopted him, Paddy. You are a brilliant daughter.”

Lix smiled and closed her eyes to keep the tears from falling. But it couldn’t prevent one solitary tear from running over her cheek. She felt a finger brushing it away before it could hit Paddy’s shirt. When she opened her eyes she realized that it was Randall, who gave her a tender, sad smile, then got up and stepped behind her so she could lean back if she needed support.

She didn’t take the offer, but was thankful for it, anyway.

“Aren’t there twin calves to be born, Miss Gunn?”

Randall asked, gently, to distract Paddy and give Lix a moment to regain her composure.

“Oh, you are right, I have to hurry to get to McDougall’s farm if I don’t want to miss the best part!”

Paddy made sure her flat cap sat tightly and slightly askew on her head, straightened her back, and waved at Lix, Randall, and Lissy.

“Goodbye Miss Storm, goodbye Mr. Brown, safe travels back to London.”

“Goodbye and don’t forget to write me a letter about how the cesarean went, Paddy!” Randall grinned and waved back.

“Ay!” Paddy replied, tipping her finger to her cap. “Might be a lengthy story. Lissy, tell dad not to wait with dinner for me, it might take a while and I may have a lot of questions for Doc Baker after the calves are delivered!”

And with that, she turned around and started running down the road towards her next adventures.

“Enough energy to be a vet _and_ a journalist,” Lix remarked as Randall helped her getting up.

“Reminds me of someone,” he replied as he gently took her face in his hands to make sure there were no teardrops left.

“According to Paddy I’m something like your flat cap from now on, Randall.”

Lix slowly got her sense of humor back.

“Well, that cap is the dearest thing in the whole wide world to her, so I wouldn’t frown too much at that analogy,“ Randall smiled, still gently caressing her cheek. “And just like Paddy will grow into it and might know what she wants to be once it fits perfectly, I hope we grow into each other until we find a life that fits us perfectly.”

“The world lost a poet when you decided to become a journalist, Randall.”

Lix kissed him.

Randall answered the kiss.

She realized that while he kissed her, it was also him kissing something goodbye. She wasn’t sure if it was just a goodbye to Berriedale or a final goodbye to being a lone wolf, she just realized that whatever it was, this kiss marked a new step in their relationship. A step they took together. A step that meant growing. Maybe a step that would help to fill that dark, cold, black hole in her chest. A step that hopefully meant they could finally leave the shadows of the past behind. For sure, a step that was illuminated by hope.

A hope for a better tomorrow.


End file.
